


Good One's Gonna Be

by remmyme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2017, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, First Meetings, First Time, Hunter Dean, I REPEAT THE TXT SPEECH IS TEMPORARY, M/M, Phone Sex, Professor Castiel, S3 Sam and Dean just really needed a friend ok?, Texting and Phone Conversations, and (past) infidelity, brief mention of (past) sex worker Dean, brief mention of divorce, brief mention of infertility issues, brief mention of mass death, but it's a cute fic I swear, from biblical times, i hope you like italics, text fic, the txt speech is temporary, time zones what are time zones?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remmyme/pseuds/remmyme
Summary: Castiel Novak receives a rather alarming text message from an unknown number, and what started as a simple misdial quickly turns into the greatest friendship Castiel has ever known. But Dean has many secrets, dangerous truths about the life he lives, and would like to tell Castiel exactly none of them.A (slightly) AU, (mostly) text fic, S3 fix-it romance (of sorts).





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from CCR's ['It's Just a Thought'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQKrSru_Vxw)
> 
> Okay oh god wow. Hi. 
> 
> Here is my DCBB. I worked very, very hard on it and I really, _really_ hope you enjoy it.
> 
> MY ARTIST IS AMAZING AND HAS DONE AMAZING THINGS AND I AM AMAZINGLY IN LOVE!! Basically, what I'm saying is, [disterra](http://thedrawfill.tumblr.com/) is ten kinds of awesome. Art masterpost [here](http://thedrawfill.tumblr.com/post/166081632512/my-dcbb-2017-art-%E0%B9%91-%E0%B9%91-%E0%B8%85-guys-the-fic-by)!
> 
> I also want to say thanks to all my DCBB firechat peeps. I love you all! I'm so glad this challenge allowed me to meet you! Thank you SO MUCH for all the love and support you've shown me over the months. 
> 
> And finally, a HUMONGOUS thank you to my friend and beta, [jad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jad/pseuds/jad), without whom this fic would be both significantly shittier and significantly shorter. You carried me far.

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

10:43 PM  03/09/07  
where r u dude?

10:45 PM  03/09/07  
im bleeding all over this fugly comforter

_10:46 PM  03/09/07  
Are you alright?_

10:46 PM  03/09/07  
yeah just get back here

10:46 PM  03/09/07  
u kno its a bitch 2 stitch up 1 handed

_10:47 PM  03/09/07  
If you require stitches, I would suggest you go to the hospital._

10:48 PM  03/09/07  
ha fukin ha ur hilarious

_10:49 PM  03/09/07  
Should I call an ambulance?_

10:49 PM  03/09/07  
wtf?

10:51 PM  03/09/07  
oh shit this is def a wrong number

_10:52 PM  03/09/07  
I gathered as much._

_10:55 PM  03/09/07  
You say you’re bleeding? Do you require assistance?_

10:56 PM  03/09/07  
ive got it handled

_10:57 PM  03/09/07  
Are you certain?_

```

_11:40 PM  03/09/07  
I hope all is well._

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

_09:04 AM  03/10/07  
Hello. Are you alright? _

_09:11 AM  03/10/07  
After last night’s correspondence, I find myself…concerned._

09:29 AM  03/10/07  
wtf, really?

09:33 AM  03/10/07  
well…yeah, im good

_09:37 AM  03/10/07  
I’m glad._

09:44 AM  03/10/07  
guess i should say srry for the weird txts

_09:46 AM  03/10/07  
Not at all. _

_09:50 AM  03/10/07  
It wasn’t too serious, then?_

09:51 AM  03/10/07  
what?

_09:52 AM  03/10/07  
Your wound. You were bleeding._

09:54 AM  03/10/07  
oh, not even. cut my arm up, my brother took care of it. hurts like a bitch tho

_09:55 AM  03/10/07  
I’m sorry to hear that. _

09:57 AM  03/10/07  
tis but a scratch

 

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

_01:02 PM  03/19/07  
Are you healing well?_

01:03 PM  03/19/07  
whoa, is this my cali txt?

_01:05 PM  03/19/07  
Perhaps? I’m unsure what that means._

01:06 PM  03/19/07  
was passing thru los angeles when i first txted u

_01:07 PM  03/19/07  
I see._

_01:08 PM  03/19/07  
I only wanted to check in. Barring complications, your stitches should be taken out soon._

01:09 PM  03/19/07  
ha! yeah, took em out a couple days ago

_01:11 PM  03/19/07  
Was that…wise? By ‘soon’ I meant in a few days’ time, not a few days past._

_01:13 PM  03/19/07  
Not that it’s much business of mine._

01:14 PM  03/19/07  
ur a real worrier, huh?

_01:15 PM  03/19/07  
The wound could easily reopen if not given the proper time to heal!_

01:16 PM  03/19/07  
psh

01:16 PM  03/19/07  
its fine, ya nag

01:22 PM  03/19/07  
they were itching like crazy!

_01:25 PM  03/19/07  
You must take care not to bump or pull at the wound._

01:27 PM  03/19/07  
sure thing, nurse ratched

_01:27 PM  03/19/07  
The internet recommends you should avoid using bandages if not absolutely necessary._

01:28 PM  03/19/07  
omg, ur actually researching this shit??

01:28 PM  03/19/07  
thats just 4 when the stitches are in, tho. they get infected  

01:29 PM  03/19/07  
this aint my first rodeo

_01:30 PM  03/19/07  
With your cavalier attitude, I’m inclined to believe you!_

_01:32 PM  03/19/07  
Though, I must admit my curiosity. How did you injure yourself?_

_02:07 PM  03/19/07  
I apologize. I don’t mean to pry._

02:14 PM  03/19/07  
ur a funny one, u know?

02:16 PM  03/19/07  
some guy txts u saying hes bleeding all over the place and u strike up a conversation? stick with it? i woulda chalked my ass up as crazy and said fuck off

_02:17 PM  03/19/07  
I was…alarmed._

_02:17 PM  03/19/07  
But intrigued._

02:19 PM  03/19/07  
heh…mystery and intrigue. cant say no to that

```

04:08 PM  03/19/07  
well, if ur gonna, txt me at 8669073235

04:09 PM  03/19/07  
this phones 2 shitty 4 txting

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_07:12 PM  03/20/07  
Hello, stranger._

07:13 PM  03/20/07  
I’m not actually going for mysterious, you know.

07:13 PM  03/20/07  
The name’s Dean.

_07:14 PM  03/20/07  
Hello, Dean._

_07:15 PM  03/20/07  
My name is Castiel._

07:16 PM  03/20/07  
Yeah?

_07:16 PM  03/20/07  
Yes?_

07:17 PM  03/20/07  
It’s an odd name, is all.

_07:18 PM  03/20/07  
I was named for the Angel of Thursday._

_07:20 PM  03/20/07  
So, yes._

07:21 PM  03/20/07  
An angel, huh?

07:23 PM  03/20/07  
Is that a…girl’s name? Guy’s?

_07:25 PM  03/20/07  
I don’t know that it’s a ‘guy’s’ name, but I happen to be male._

07:26 PM  03/20/07  
Cool.

_07:26 PM  03/20/07  
Is it?_

07:28 PM  03/20/07  
Duh. I was just curious.

_07:29 PM  03/20/07  
Yes, Dean._

07:30 PM  03/20/07  
Still a weird name.

_07:30 PM  03/20/07  
Yes, Dean._

07:34 PM  03/20/07  
So…

_07:34 PM  03/20/07  
Yes, Dean?_

07:36 PM  03/20/07  
Aw, dude, you’re totally fucking with me!

_07:36 PM  03/20/07  
Yes, Dean._

07:38 PM  03/20/07  
Nice, here I’m thinking I’ve pissed you off and you’re giving me the run-around!

07:38 PM  03/20/07  
Is this how you treat all your rando mis-dails?

_07:39 PM  03/20/07  
Only the ones who make it so easy for me._

_07:39 PM  03/20/07  
And let’s not forget it was you who mis-dialed, not I._

07:40 PM  03/20/07  
Yeah, yeah. You got me there.

_07:42 PM  03/20/07  
I notice your grammar has improved._

07:43 PM  03/20/07  
The wonders of a full keypad.

07:43 PM  03/20/07  
And hey, screw off! Don’t go being a Sammy.

_07:44 PM  03/20/07  
Sammy?_

07:45 PM  03/20/07  
My dork little brother, always going on about professionalism or some shit.

_07:46 PM  03/20/07  
Sound advice._

07:48 PM  03/20/07  
You’re pretty sassy, you know that?

_07:49 PM  03/20/07  
I’m sure I don’t know what you mean._

07:49 PM  03/20/07  
Uh huh. Sure you don’t.

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

07:26 PM  03/23/07  
Castiel, Angel of Thursday!

_07:27 PM  03/23/07  
Just Castiel will suffice._

07:28 PM  03/23/07  
Okay, Cas, whatever you say.

07:28 PM  03/23/07  
How’s it hanging?

_07:29 PM  03/23/07  
I’m well. How are you?_

07:30 PM  03/23/07  
‘I’m well.’

07:31 PM  03/23/07  
You’re a hoot, man. Are you some 70yr old grandpa who’s suspiciously good at texting, or do you just talk like one?

_07:33 PM  03/23/07  
I’m significantly younger than that! _

_07:33 PM  03/23/07  
Age and eloquence are not mutually exclusive._

07:34 PM  03/23/07  
Significantly younger, huh?

_07:35 PM  03/23/07  
You’re fishing, Dean._

07:36 PM  03/23/07  
Aw, come on.

07:36 PM  03/23/07  
I’m 28, how about you?

_07:37 PM  03/23/07  
I appreciate your candor._

07:38 PM  03/23/07  
‘Candor.’ You MUST be playing me again.

_07:40 PM  03/23/07  
I am 33, if you must know._

07:41 PM  03/23/07  
See? Was that so hard?

```

08:53 PM  03/23/07  
So what’re your big plans for tonight?

_08:54 PM  03/23/07  
Am I required to have plans for tonight?_

08:54 PM  03/23/07  
Damn right you are! It’s Friday night!

_08:55 PM  03/23/07  
Well…I’m sorry to disappoint._

08:56 PM  03/23/07  
Uh, lame? Sammy and I are working tonight, I need some vicarious entertainment!

_08:58 PM  03/23/07  
I’m afraid the highlight of my evening will be a pot of coffee and a manuscript on Mesoamerican spirituality._

08:59 PM  03/23/07  
Dude…

_09:00 PM  03/23/07  
I will also be working tonight._

09:01 PM  03/23/07  
That is…SO lame.

09:01 PM  03/23/07  
What even are you??

_09:04 PM  03/23/07  
Human male, 33 years of age, approximately 6’, shoe size US 11…_

09:05 PM  03/23/07  
Ha fuckin’ ha, aren’t you funny. You know what I mean!

_09:07 PM  03/23/07  
I’m an academic, I suppose. Mainly I consult on research and literature which fall under my areas of expertise._

09:08 PM  03/23/07  
Areas which include…Mesoamerican spirituality.

_09:08 PM  03/23/07  
Most spiritualities and religions, yes.  _

_09:10 PM  03/23/07  
I hold a Bachelor’s in comparative religion, Master’s in language and semiotics, and a Doctorate in sacred texts._

09:12 PM  03/23/07  
Dude.

09:12 PM  03/23/07  
So what I’m hearing is.

09:12 PM  03/23/07  
You’re a professional nerd.

_09:13 PM  03/23/07  
I’m not sure I appreciate that!_

09:13 PM  03/23/07  
Oh man, this is priceless…

_09:14 PM  03/23/07  
I’m very well respected in my field!_

09:14 PM  03/23/07  
Shit, please tell me you wear dorky glasses.

_09:15 PM  03/23/07  
No, Dean, I do not require corrective lenses._

09:16 PM  03/23/07  
‘Corrective lenses,’ what the fuck, how are you even real.

09:17 PM  03/23/07  
I bet you teach classes! You totally do!

09:17 PM  03/23/07  
You a sweater-vest kind of guy?

09:17 PM  03/23/07  
HERBAL TEA.

09:18 PM  03/23/07  
Maybe I should pass you off to Sammy.

09:18 PM  03/23/07  
Spread the geek! Share the love of all things dweeb!

09:23 PM  03/23/07  
Aw, come on. I’m only messing with you.

_09:24 PM  03/23/07  
Oh, I know. But you seemed to be entertaining yourself._

09:25 PM  03/23/07  
Hey!

_09:26 PM  03/23/07  
I presume you’ve finished, then?_

09:27 PM  03/23/07  
FINE, fun-suck.

09:27 PM  03/23/07  
Sorry, Cas.

09:28 PM  03/23/07  
Oh…

09:28 PM  03/23/07  
I mean…sorry…

09:28 PM  03/23/07  
DOCTOR Cas.

_09:29 PM  03/23/07  
I can assure you, Dean, no one refers to me as ‘Dr. Cas’._

09:29 PM  03/23/07  
Well, ain’t that a shame.

```

10:18 PM  03/23/07  
Just Cas is cool though, right?

10:20 PM  03/23/07  
I mean, ‘Castiel,’ how do you even pronounce that?

_10:20 PM  03/23/07  
Most know me as Jimmy, actually._

10:20 PM  03/23/07  
Uh…Jimmy??

_10:20 PM  03/23/07  
Cas-TEE-el_

10:21 PM  03/23/07  
Dude.

_10:22 PM  03/23/07  
For my middle name, James._

_10:23 PM  03/23/07  
In truth, I prefer Castiel._

10:24 PM  03/23/07  
But you go by Jimmy!

_10:26 PM  03/23/07  
A childhood moniker that has carried through to adulthood, despite my best efforts._

10:26 PM  03/23/07  
You are so not a Jimmy.

_10:28 PM  03/23/07  
James was my father’s name._

10:31 PM  03/23/07  
Oh. So…

10:31 PM  03/23/07  
Not a Jimmy?

_10:34 PM  03/23/07  
Though I loved him dearly, Castiel is a name that feels more my own._

_10:37 PM  03/23/07  
Cas is fine, Dean._

10:39 PM  03/23/07  
Well, good.

10:41 PM  03/23/07  
‘Cause, no offense to your dad or anything, but Cas is way cooler than Jimmy.

10:42 PM  03/23/07  
And man, you need all the help you can get.

 

``````

**Saturday (and Sunday)**

``````

 

_05:58 PM  03/24/07  
I’m curious, Dean._

_06:02 PM  03/24/07  
What work kept you and your brother away from an eventful Friday evening?_

_06:05 PM  03/24/07  
You seemed to view it an awful injustice._

06:12 PM  03/24/07  
Aw, this and that.

_06:14 PM  03/24/07  
Very precise._

06:14 PM  03/24/07  
Yeah, well, I try.

06:17 PM  03/24/07  
Sammy and I are in the family business. It keeps us busy.

_06:18 PM  03/24/07  
Why does that sound rather…ominous?_

06:19 PM  03/24/07  
Ha! Yep, that’s me: film noir mobster badass.

06:22 PM  03/24/07  
But seriously, it’s fine. Just probably something we shouldn’t talk about.

_06:23 PM  03/24/07  
That is…no less worrying._

_06:30 PM  03/24/07  
I apologize. It seems I’ve made you uncomfortable._

06:31 PM  03/24/07  
No way, Cas, it’s okay.

06:31 PM  03/24/07  
It’s not your fault a simple question has a complicated answer.

_06:33 PM  03/24/07  
I understand. _

_06:33 PM  03/24/07  
You may keep your secrets._

06:35 PM  03/24/07  
Oh, I may, may I?

_06:36 PM  03/24/07  
Of course._

```

_12:17 AM  03/24/07  
Dean…_

_12:17 AM  03/24/07  
Are you safe?_

12:19 AM  03/24/07  
Well, I’m not dead yet.

12:23 AM  03/24/07  
I’m not actually a mobster, dude.

_12:25 AM  03/24/07  
I will trust that’s true. _

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_03:12 PM  03/27/07  
Mesoamerican religion is very strongly tied to cosmology. _

_03:13 PM  03/27/07  
Most notably, the concepts of space and time were assigned tremendous importance._

_03:17 PM  03/27/07  
Early Mesoamerican societies had an astonishingly broad understanding of the planets and other celestial bodies. On Astronomical matters, they were truly well before their time._

_03:20 PM  03/27/07  
In fact, of all the ancient calendar systems, those of the Mesoamericans are by far the most accurate and complex. _

_03:22 PM  03/27/07  
Their 365-day calendar of Haab predates the conception of our modern calendar by more than 2000 years, yet is remarkably similar in most ways._

03:34 PM  03/27/07  
…Cas.

03:35 PM  03/27/07  
For your own good.

03:35 PM  03/27/07  
For the love of pie and Norris and everything holy.

03:36 PM  03/27/07  
Step AWAY from the manuscript.

 

``````

**Thursday**

``````

 

_09:01 AM  03/29/07  
Were you aware that, in order to avoid insect irritation, Pharaoh Pepi II was often accompanied by several naked slaves, their bodies bathed in honey? _

09:02 AM  03/29/07  
Uh…nope…can’t say I was.

_09:02 AM  03/29/07  
It’s quite ingenious. _

09:04 AM  03/29/07  
But what about the slaves, poor bastards! No way would I work for some asshole who made me walk around sticky and covered in bees, what the hell?!

_09:07 AM  03/29/07  
They were slaves, Dean. The pharaohs of ancient Egypt were revered as gods; their word and will considered divine law. The slaves had little choice in the matter._

_11:09 AM  03/29/07  
But yes, I imagine it was quite uncomfortable._

11:09 AM  03/29/07  
Cheery, Cas.

```

_01:56 PM  03/29/07  
Domesticated felines were also considered sacred in ancient Egyptian society._

02:03 PM  03/29/07  
Everyone knows that one, dude.

02:05 PM  03/29/07  
Gotta say, not as interesting as Pepi Le Douche.

_02:11 PM  03/29/07  
Killing a cat, even accidentally, was a grave enough offense as to incur the death penalty._

_02:13 PM  03/29/07  
The animal owners would often also shave their eyebrows in mourning, to honor the deceased._

02:17 PM  03/29/07  
I’m allergic, man. I say fuck ‘em.

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

_10:26 PM  03/30/07  
Hinduism is humanity’s oldest religion._

10:34 PM  03/30/07  
What, the one with the elephant dude?

_10:35 PM  03/30/07  
Ganesha is one of many Hindu gods, yes._

```

11:11 PM  03/30/07  
So? You’re gonna leave me hanging?

11:12 PM  03/30/07  
How old?

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

08:12 AM  04/01/07  
Hey, why can’t ghosts have kids?

_08:14 AM  04/01/07  
Spirits are not corporeal._

08:15 AM  04/01/07  
Well, yeah, they’ve got a Halloweenie!

_08:17 AM  04/01/07  
…I see._

```

01:40 PM  04/01/07  
What did the letter O say to the letter Q?

_01:47 PM  04/01/07  
Hm. I don’t know, Dean._

01:48 PM  04/01/07  
“Dude, why’s your junk hanging out??”

```

04:33 PM  04/01/07  
Why do mermaids wear seashells?

_04:35 PM  04/01/07  
Strangely enough, I suspect you’ll tell me._

04:36 PM  04/01/07  
‘Cause they’ve outgrown their B-cups!

```

_06:51 PM  04/01/07  
Dean._

06:54 PM  04/01/07  
Yeah?

_06:55 PM  04/01/07  
How do you impress the baker’s daughter?_

06:56 PM  04/01/07  
Oh, I can think of a few ways…

_06:57 PM  04/01/07  
You bring her flours._

06:59 PM  04/01/07  
Oh my GOD you’re such a fucking nerd.

06:59 PM  04/01/07  
That’s WAY cornier than mine were!!

_07:00 PM  04/01/07  
Happy April Fools, correct?_

_07:02 PM  04/01/07  
Although… I was under the impression that April Fools was for practical jokes, not bad puns._

07:05 PM  04/01/07  
Yeah, well, I can’t really prank you, can I? I figured I’d treat you to some of my awesome jokes instead!

07:06 PM  04/01/07  
Sammy, though, I got him good! No holds barred!

_07:07 PM  04/01/07  
I dread to ask. _

 

``````

**Wednesday**

``````

 

_10:23 PM  04/04/07  
I’ve been thinking._

_10:48 PM  04/04/07  
Monkeys are clever._

_10:48 PM  04/04/07  
And rather sensible. _

_10:50 PM  04/04/07  
Is it really necessary to test cosmetics on them?_

 

``````

**Thursday**

``````

 

_12:47 PM  04/05/07  
I would liberate them from their cages._

_01:20 PM  04/05/07  
The monkeys._

_01:23 PM  04/05/07  
If given the opportunity. _

```

_03:38 PM  04/05/07  
But where would I put them all?_

```

_08:12 PM  04/05/07  
Hello?_

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

_09:58 AM  04/07/07  
Dean, please respond if you are able._

_10:01 AM  04/07/07  
We haven’t known each other long, you and I, but I feel this silence is unlike you._

```

_05:22 PM  04/07/07  
Dean??_

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

_11:50 PM  04/08/07  
If you wish to stop our correspondence, I’d understand._

_11:53 PM  04/08/07  
But please, at least let me know you are safe and unharmed._

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

It’s already some dark hour of ass o’clock when they tear out of Green County, but with the full weight of the FBI at their backs – and a fresh taste of what it means to get caught – it’s two state lines and the better part of four hours before they both agree to stop.

“Goddamn,” Dean sighs and drops his head to the steering wheel, eyes closed and ready for sleep. Sam huffs in agreement and unfolds from beside him, exiting the car to move from the front and slide into the back, stretching out as much as his long legs allow.

Dean groans as he lies down across the front bench, stiff from grave digging and the drive. “Watch your feet, Sammy,” he grumbles. “Scuff the leather and you’re a dead man.”

Sam scoffs. “Yeah, well, _prison_. I don’t know about you, but I’m not looking to get picked up by Henriksen just because we stopped to book a room in the first city out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, irritable. “I heard you the first twenty times.”

They quiet for a few moments, relaxing into the familiar scent and feel of the Impala; which were, complaints aside, a very welcome change from prison cots and the unfamiliar presence of a stranger cell-mate.

“Hey,” Sam says, breaking the sleepy silence, “hand me my phone, would you? We haven’t checked them in, like, a week.”

Dean fumbles for the latch on the glove compartment and digs out his and Sam’s cells. He blindly tosses back the Blackberry – “ _Ow_ , you dick!” – and sets to powering up his own two Motorolas. Sam’s right; it’s been awhile, and Dean would be lying if he said he wasn’t maybe hoping to see if his text-accident Castiel had messaged him again. He counted it as unlikely, though, reminding himself ( _again,_ his unkind thoughts point out) of the half-week stretch of radio silence between April Fool’s and the hunt at Green County.

Dean blinks blearily at the newly-illuminated screen.

_14 new messages_

“Sonofa _bitch_.”

``````

04:33 AM  04/10/07  
Shit, Cas, I’m such a dick. I had to stash my phone for a few days. I’m back, we’re okay, and everything’s cool.

04:39 AM  04/10/07  
I was NOT giving you the cold shoulder. So, fuck no, I don’t want you to stop texting me.

```

04:56 AM  04/10/07  
I’m going to turn this off and crash for a few hours. We’ll talk later, okay?

```

_07:04 AM  04/10/07  
You owe me nothing, Dean. I’m just relieved to know you’re alright._

```

08:38 AM  04/10/07  
It’s not about owing you, man.

08:42 AM  04/10/07  
Look, you gotta know.

08:47 AM  04/10/07  
Fuck… I don’t know.

08:50 AM  04/10/07  
It’s not weird for me and Sammy to drop off the grid from time to time.

08:52 AM  04/10/07  
What’s weird is having someone around enough that it matters when we do.

_08:52 AM  04/10/07  
Dean…_

08:54 AM  04/10/07  
So.

08:55 AM  04/10/07  
That’s me, sad sack of shit with a sad sack, fucked up life.

_08:59 AM  04/10/07  
You shouldn’t speak of yourself so._

09:01 AM  04/10/07  
You don’t know a thing about me.

09:05 AM  04/10/07  
Wouldn’t say that if you did.

_09:07 AM  04/10/07  
I know enough that I, too, would rather not see an end to our communications._

09:21 AM  04/10/07  
I don’t… I just don’t get you, Cas.

09:21 AM  04/10/07  
How have I not got you running for the hills?

_09:23 AM  04/10/07  
Mystery and intrigue, was it not?_

09:25 AM  04/10/07  
Dude. Did you just…?

_09:26 AM  04/10/07  
:)_

09:27 AM  04/10/07  
Oh my god, you did!

09:27 AM  04/10/07  
And, Christ on a cracker, please tell me that’s not a smiley face.

_09:28 AM  04/10/07  
They’re called emoticons._

09:28 AM  04/10/07  
Emoticons. Of course they are.

_09:29 AM  04/10/07  
;D_

_09:31 AM  04/10/07  
I’m glad you’re back, Dean._

```

03:11 PM  04/10/07  
Cas, buddy.

03:13 PM  04/10/07  
I think we’re gonna need to have a talk about chick flick moments.

 

``````

**Wednesday**

``````

 

_02:46 PM  04/11/07  
How important is lipstick to you, Dean?_

 

``````

**Thursday**

``````

 

**12:55 AM  04/19/07  
Dean, where the hell are you? Did you find the Djinn?**

```

_09:22 PM  04/19/07_

_Incoming call_

“Hello?”

“Um…hi. Is this…Cas?”

“Yes, this is he. May I ask who’s speaking?”

“Hey, yeah, sorry. I…uh, I don’t know if he’s mentioned me, but this is Sam? Dean’s brother?”

“Sam? Yes, Dean speaks of you quite often.”

“Uh, wow, really?”

“Yes, he does. It’s nice to…meet you, as it were.”  

“Hey, yeah— Yeah, you too.”

“Is everything alright?”

“I was…well, I was kinda hoping you could tell me.”

“I’m not sure I…?”

“Shit, sorry. Um, have you heard from Dean today?”

“No, I haven’t. Though he did inform me yesterday that he was busy, and with you. On a job, he said. His silence today, I thought nothing of it.”

“Wow, what? Did he…uh, I mean, has he told you…?”

“No. He talks about your work in only the most general of terms. Sam, what’s happened to Dean?”

“I don’t…fuck, I don’t know. Look, I…I’m really sorry to call you like this but I just, I know he talks to you, like, a lot, and I pulled your number from his phone a while ago— Shit, sorry, I know that’s messed up— But I haven’t heard from him since last night, and he was…fuck, he… _Damn_ it, he’s so _stupid!_ And I knew it was a long shot but I was hoping you’d… God, I don’t know, I’m sorry. Sorry, I—”

“Sam! Breathe. You need to breathe.”

“Fuck…”

“What can I do to help?”

“You can’t— I don’t— There’s nothing. I’m doing it. The only thing I can.”

“Are you absolutely certain? Sam, please, he’s my friend.”

“Yeah, I… I’m sure. Thanks, though.”

“Sam…”

“Look, man, I’ll find him. And then I’ll kick his ass for being an idiot.”

“Sam, wai—”

_09:29 PM  04/19/07_

_Call ended_

_```_

_09:36 PM  04/19/07  
Your brother called._

_09:38 PM  04/19/07  
Be safe._

 

_``````_

**Friday**

_``````_

 

11:17 PM  04/20/07  
He shouldn’t have done that.

_11:20 PM  04/20/07  
Perhaps not. But I’m glad he did._

_11:22 PM  04/20/07  
What happened, Dean?_

11:25 PM  04/20/07  
I don’t know what to tell you, man.

11:26 PM  04/20/07  
Same thing that always happens.

11:28 PM  04/20/07  
I fucked up. Got in deep, barely dragged myself out.

_11:34 PM  04/20/07  
Dean…_

_11:34 PM  04/20/07  
Is it drugs?_

11:35 PM  04/20/07  
Jesus, what?

11:35 PM  04/20/07  
No! Fuck no!

11:36 PM  04/20/07  
I’m not doing drugs, Cas, Jesus.

_11:37 PM  04/20/07  
What am I to think?_

11:38 PM  04/20/07  
Not that!

_11:39 PM  04/20/07  
Dean._

11:39 PM  04/20/07  
Cas.

_11:41 PM  04/20/07  
You’re okay?_

11:45 PM  04/20/07  
Yeah… I’m okay.

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

**05:51 PM  04/21/07  
Hi, Cas. This is Sam. **

**05:51 PM  04/21/07  
Dean’s brother, Sam.**

_05:53 PM  04/21/07  
Yes. Hello, Sam._

**05:54 PM  04/21/07  
I really wanted to say sorry.**

**05:56 PM  04/21/07  
For, you know…kind of stealing your number and calling and dumping my crazy on you.**

_05:57 PM  04/21/07  
He is your brother. There's no need to apologize for your concern._

_05:59 PM  04/21/07  
The violation of trust, however, I feel is a matter best taken up with Dean._

**06:00 PM  04/21/07  
Oh, believe me, he’s already ripped me a new one.**

_06:01 PM  04/21/07  
I don’t doubt it. I’ve noticed Dean is not one to…hold it in._

**06:01 PM  04/21/07  
Hah! Yeah, you can say that again.**

_06:03 PM  04/21/07  
Well. Despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, I certainly appreciate the opportunity to make your acquaintance._

_06:03 PM  04/21/07  
Dean tells me you attended Stanford?_

```

 _“Dude!”_ Sam slams into the bathroom like there’s a wendigo on his ass, and Dean – who had only just managed to coax yet another temperamental no-tell shower to the perfect temperature and begun to relax into the spray – has a very interesting and confused few seconds in which he instinctively, simultaneously tries to shield his junk, duck for cover, and dive for the nearest weapon.

Dean blinks hard, squinting against the water at the bottle of Garnier Fructis he finds himself wielding, textbook-perfect pinch grip and crouched low behind the shower curtain.

“What,” he says, loud over the hiss of the shower and the pounding in his chest, “the _fuck._ ”

“Dude,” Sam repeats, voice alarmingly close on the other side of the curtain – and, seriously, _what the fuck_ , Sam is breaking _so many_ Winchester Rules of Motel Cohabitation right now – “are you weird pen pal text-buddies with _Dr. Castiel James Novak?_ ”

```

06:23 PM  04/21/07  
I think you broke my brother.

06:23 PM  04/21/07  
Also, you’re talking to my brother??

_06:24 PM  04/21/07  
I am, yes. He seems to be familiar with my work._

06:24 PM  04/21/07  
Uh, yeah, I heard. Sam is flipping his shit!

06:25 PM  04/21/07  
You’re the God of gods, apparently?

_06:26 PM  04/21/07  
Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. A few publications and professional consultations hardly makes me the leading expert._

06:26 PM  04/21/07  
That’s not what Sammy says!

_06:28 PM  04/21/07  
I must admit, I was surprised when he knew me by name from my academic credentials alone._

_06:28 PM  04/21/07  
You said he studied pre-law, correct? Is religion and mythology a personal interest of his?_

06:29 PM  04/21/07  
Kid’s a genius. Everything’s a personal interest, the nerd.

```

**06:30 PM  04/21/07  
Dr. Novak, it’s such an honor.**

_06:30 PM  04/21/07  
Sam, please, there’s no need for such formalities._

```

06:31 PM  04/21/07  
Fuck, is he still texting you?

```

**06:32 PM  04/21/07  
Your research on the history of belief in the energy of the human soul is amazing.**

```

06:33 PM  04/21/07  
Oh, Jesus. He just pulled out a frickin’ book.

```

**06:35 PM  04/21/07  
So many culturally different and chronologically discrete belief systems, but the ritualistic parallelisms are insane! And all the lore backs you up, man. Magic, monsters, spirits, sacrifices; that power has to come from somewhere, right?**

```

06:35 PM  04/21/07  
Dude, you wrote a BOOK??

```

**06:37 PM  04/21/07  
If you don’t mind, can I get your opinion on a couple of things?**

```

06:38 PM  04/21/07  
If he’s bugging you, Cas, just say the word.

```

**06:40 PM  04/21/07  
Ugh, hold on a sec, Dean’s being an asshole.**

```

06:44 PM  04/21/07  
Seriously, what the HELL is happening here?!

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

_02:04 PM  04/22/07  
Your brother has some very interesting thoughts on possible translation errors among the Dunhuang manuscripts._

02:06 PM  04/22/07  
Of course he does.

02:08 PM  04/21/07  
And, hell, it must be nice to talk to someone who’s got more than Harry Potter dick jokes when you’re in one of your Confucius moods.

_02:09 PM  04/22/07  
There’s no need to be jealous, Dean._

02:09 PM  04/22/07  
The FUCK?

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_07:52 PM  04/24/07  
I feel at a disadvantage._

_07:54 PM  04/24/07  
You know my full name, now. What I do. A cursory internet search will tell you where I live, what I look like. Any number of things._

07:55 PM  04/24/07  
You think I’ve googled you?

07:55 PM  04/24/07  
No way, man. I’ll leave the creepy Cas-stalking to Sammy.

07:56 PM  04/24/07  
Besides, it’s not like you wanted me to know all that stuff. Sam told me, not you.

_07:58 PM  04/24/07  
I wouldn’t mind. If you wanted to know._

07:59 PM  04/24/07  
Still not googling you, you weirdo.

_08:00 PM  04/24/07  
We’ll do it the old-fashioned way, then. _

_08:01 PM  04/24/07  
Tell me something about yourself. _

08:02 PM  04/24/07  
Whoa, when did this get to be about me?!

_08:03 PM  04/24/07  
My disadvantage, Dean. _

08:03 PM  04/24/07  
Bullshit, that’s playing dirty!

_08:04 PM  04/24/07  
Perhaps._

08:04 PM  04/24/07  
And besides, I already told you I don’t actually know your life story.

_08:05 PM  04/24/07  
We’ll take turns, then._

08:05 PM  04/24/07  
Christ, what are we, 12?

_08:08 PM  04/24/07  
I live in Chicago, recently moved from Pontiac, Illinois. I work for a local university. _

08:08 PM  04/24/07  
Oh, jeez.

_08:09 PM  04/24/07  
Much of my time is spent on personal research, though I do occasionally teach special-offer courses. I do not, however, much care for herbal teas._

_08:11 PM  04/24/07  
No hobbies to speak of. Although I do watch an excessive amount of bad television._

_08:12 PM  04/24/07  
I enjoy parks. Flowers. Aquariums. _

_08:12 PM  04/24/07  
Beautiful things._

08:14 PM  04/24/07  
Wow, Cas. Sappy much?

_08:15 PM  04/24/07  
There’s no shame in enjoying the wonders of this world._

_08:18 PM  04/24/07  
It’s your turn, Dean._

08:20 PM  04/24/07  
Fuck, fine. You win.

08:21 PM  04/24/07  
I like cheap beer and expensive burgers. Music, sex, cars.

08:21 PM  04/24/07  
I’m just a guy, Cas, really not that interesting.

08:23 PM  04/24/07  
I’m really good with cars, though. If it’s broke, I can fix it.

_08:25 PM  04/24/07  
Do you have family? A home?_

08:26 PM  04/24/07  
Family, no. It’s just me and Sam, now.

08:29 PM  04/24/07  
Had a house in Kansas, once. Our mom died. Dad packed us up and left.

08:31 PM  04/24/07  
I mean… I told you I’ve been on the road with Sammy for a while but, truth is, it’s been like this since we were kids.

08:32 PM  04/24/07  
Sam tried to settle down, with Stanford. Didn’t stick.

_08:35 PM  04/24/07  
Thank you for sharing, Dean._

08:36 PM  04/24/07  
Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.

08:38 PM  04/24/07  
I’ve got one. A question.

_08:40 PM  04/24/07  
Yes?_

08:41 PM  04/24/07  
What do you look like?

_08:42 PM  04/24/07  
Really, now, you already know my height and shoe size. You need more?_

08:42 PM  04/24/07  
Ha, ha. Very funny.

_08:43 PM  04/24/07  
I did say there are pictures online. _

08:44 PM  04/24/07  
Yeah, well, there are of me too, if you know where to look.

08:44 PM  04/24/07  
But I say that’s cheating, so you’re just gonna have to tell me.

_08:45 PM  04/24/07  
Very well. _

_08:48 PM  04/24/07  
I am Caucasian. Brunette; hair dark brown and short. Blue eyes. Reasonably attractive, I’m told. Though I’ve also been told this is in spite of my disconcerting manner and poor dress sense._

08:49 PM  04/24/07  
Uh, did you tell them to fuck off?

_08:49 PM  04/24/07  
I did not. Everyone is entitled to their opinions._

08:50 PM  04/24/07  
You’re too nice for your own good, Cas.

_08:52 PM  04/24/07  
And you? What do you look like?_

08:53 PM  04/24/07  
Hmm, let’s see.

08:57 PM  04/24/07  
6’1, brown-blond hair, green eyes… We keep active, so I’m pretty fit. Freckles everywhere, man, chicks dig it.

08:58 PM  04/24/07  
Smoking hot, if I do say so myself.

_08:59 PM  04/24/07  
Modest, too._

09:00 PM  04/24/07  
Hey, it ain’t bragging if it’s true!

_09:00 PM  04/24/07  
The truth is relative._

09:01 PM  04/24/07  
Ha! Whatever, I’m practically Swayze.

_```_

10:45 PM  04/24/07  
Dude…are you really a TV junkie??

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

11:28 AM  04/27/07  
I need your help.

_11:30 AM  04/27/07  
On what matter?_

11:32 AM  04/27/07  
Well. It’s Sammy’s birthday in a few days.

11:33 AM  04/27/07  
And normally b-days mean a six-pack and socks, special-order size Gigantor. The kid’s a bitch to buy for.

_11:33 AM  04/27/07  
I think I see where this is going._

11:33 AM  04/27/07  
But THEN I thought.

11:34 AM  04/27/07  
Who better to know the latest and greatest in the world of geek than you, right?

_11:35 AM  04/27/07  
I get the feeling you don’t often find yourself in the position of asking for favors._

11:36 AM  04/27/07  
Come on, Cas! You guys are like, nerds of a feather. You gotta help me out!

11:38 AM  04/27/07  
I thought… I don’t know, maybe I could surprise him this year. Get him something he’d actually like for a change.

_11:39 AM  04/27/07  
You have a very kind heart, Dean._

_11:39 AM  04/27/07  
Of course I’ll help._

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

07:10 AM  04/29/07  
We’ve got another day of driving; looking to hit Missouri ‘round dinnertime.

07:11 AM  04/29/07  
You still working on that seminar thing?

```

_03:48 PM  04/29/07  
Dean, you really shouldn’t intentionally antagonize your brother. _

04:21 PM  04/29/07  
What the fuck?! The bitch snitched on me?!

_04:23 PM  04/29/07  
To be fair, six hours straight of George Thorogood does seem rather excessive._

```

_06:03 PM  04/29/07  
I think I’ll order Chinese tonight. _

_06:36 PM  04/29/07  
Burgers again for you, I assume._

```

_10:09 PM  04/29/07  
Did you decide to drive through the night?_

```

Dean stands outside the diner, gun drawn, the rank of sulfur thick on his hands.

“Sam!” he shouts, eyes straining to see movement, anything, amongst the surrounding trees. But it’s dark, and the woods are quiet; fuck, too quiet, unnaturally quiet, how did he _miss_ that? “Sammy!”

Three dead in the diner, throats cut, but not Sam. _Not Sam._ Not dead, but gone – _no body, not dead, no body –_ and he can’t _think_.

_“Sam!”_

```

Three states, 600 miles, and 10 hours gone, Sam wakes up in Cold Oak.

 

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

_08:14 AM  04/30/07  
Dean? Is everything alright?_

08:35 AM  04/30/07  
Not really, man. I’ll text you later, okay?

_08:37 AM  04/30/07  
Yes._

 

``````

**Wednesday**

``````

 

09:52 PM  05/02/07  
What would you give up?

_09:52 PM  05/02/07  
Dean, what’s happening? Are you alright?_

09:53 PM  05/02/07  
If you could…if you had to choose, you know?

09:53 PM  05/02/07  
What do you do? Is it even a choice?

_09:54 PM  05/02/07  
I don’t understand._

09:57 PM  05/02/07  
It’s his goddamn birthday, Cas.

```

_10:29 PM  05/02/07_

_Outgoing call_

\- “This is Sam, leave a message.” -

“Sam, it’s Castiel. We haven’t spoken in a few days and I’m concerned. Dean just messaged me, and… Well. As I said, I’m concerned. Please contact me as soon as possible.”

_10:30 PM  05/02/07_

_Call ended_

```

_11:02 PM  05/02/07  
Dean, please._

```

Dean shuts his eyes.

He’s floundering and he knows it, toe-to-toe with the red-eyed _bitch_ and his thoughts are at once clamoring and blank in panic; a white-noise buzz of _you had one job_ and _let it burn_ and _one year_ and, loudest of all, _Sam, Sammy, not Sam._

Dean shuts his eyes, and does what he has to do.

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

07:15 PM  05/12/07  
Heya, Cas. How’s life?

```

07:15 PM  05/12/07

Incoming call

“Uh…hello? We’re calling, now?”

“Dean, what— It’s been _two weeks!_ Where have you been?!”

“Wow, Cas. Hi to you too.”

“Dean, _what happened?_ ”

“A lot of shit happened! Did you seriously call just to yell at me?”

“I thought you were dead!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not! Chill out!”

“And Sam?”

“Sam’s fine, dude. Better than ever.”

“He hasn’t responded to my messages.”

“Uh… Yeah, he lost his phone. Remind me to text you the new number.”

“Thank god. I am… I’m very glad you’re okay.”

“Look, I know I should’ve— I don’t know. It’s been crazy.”

“Dean, these…incidences happen with alarming frequency. This uncertainty, not knowing… It's hard to bear.”

“Believe me, man, you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, I don’t, do I?”

“No, you don’t! I may spend my time wading through the world’s shit, but I don’t make a habit of dragging my friends in after me!”

“You are— You are a _good man_. Why do you live the way you do?”

“Christ, really?”

“You speak to me of fear, injury, loss and loneliness. You once detailed to me the process behind hot-wiring a vehicle! You have no _home._ Why, Dean?”

“Drop it, Cas! I said no!”

“…”

“…”

“Very well.”

“Fuck. This is…”

“I only wish to understand.”

“I know, okay? But it ain’t that simple.”

“You do not have to bear your burdens alone.”

“Cas…”

“Please, think on it.”

“…Yeah, I hear you. Okay.”

“…”

“…”

“Dean. It’s…nice, to hear your voice.”

“Ha! Well jeez, Cas, we’ve really gotta work on your ‘nice-to-meet-you’s. D’you always sound like you gargle gravel in the mornings, or is that just when you’re yellin’ at friends?”

“I…apologize. For the yelling.”

“Nah, don’t. I get it.”

“Well. Hello, Dean.”

“Yeah, heh, hi, Cas. But…uh, look, now’s not really the best time…”

“Of course. Give Sam my regards?”

“Ugh, fine, you dork. I’ll text you later, alright?”

“Until then.”

07:24 PM  05/12/07

Call ended

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

**01:32 PM  05/13/07  
For the record, I think he should tell you.**

_01:35 PM  05/13/07  
I hope that he will._

**01:37 PM  05/13/07  
Look, man…**

**01:37 PM  05/13/07  
I can’t say much, ‘cause I know you don’t want to hear it from me. But…this isn’t just about you and us.**

**01:38 PM  05/13/07  
This is some big and nasty life-changing stuff. **

**01:38 PM  05/13/07  
And it’s going to sound crazy. Like, completely out-of-your-mind insane. But it’s all true, I swear.**

**01:40 PM  05/13/07  
I think you can handle it, and I know you really care about Dean, so…**

**01:40 PM  05/13/07  
Just hear him out, okay?**

_01:41 PM  05/13/07  
I will, Sam._

_01:41 PM  05/13/07  
Thank you._

 

``````

**Wednesday**

``````

 

09:04 PM  05/16/07  
Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.

09:04 PM  05/16/07  
I talk, you listen.

09:04 PM  05/16/07  
I’ll tell you what you want to know.

_09:05 PM  05/16/07  
Dean, thank you._

09:06 PM  05/16/07  
Don’t call me, I won’t pick up.

09:06 PM  05/16/07  
I’m only gonna do this once. So, not dealing with you hanging up on me in the middle of it.

_09:07 PM  05/16/07  
I understand._

09:10 PM  05/16/07  
Well.

09:10 PM  05/16/07  
It was nice knowing you, Cas.

_09:11 PM  05/16/07  
You are a friend, Dean. Whatever you have to say won’t change that._

09:12 PM  05/16/07  
Yeah, try that again in a few minutes.

09:12 PM  05/16/07  
Just…listen, okay?

_09:13 PM  05/16/07  
Yes._

09:15 PM  05/16/07  
Sam and I hunt monsters.

09:15 PM  05/16/07  
Real monsters. The supernatural.

_09:17 PM  05/16/07  
What…?_

09:18 PM  05/16/07  
That day I first texted you, busted arm? Got thrown around by some ghosts killing people on a movie set in LA.

09:19 PM  05/16/07  
Early April, we were handling a haunted prison in Arkansas. Then a Djinn got the drop on me in Joliet; that’s why Sammy called you.

09:21 PM  05/16/07  
A couple weeks ago…we were following a lead on a possible vamp nest to Missouri when a demon took Sam. The same demon that killed our mom when I was four and killed our dad a year ago.

09:22 PM  05/16/07  
A lot of stuff went down, then, but we finally ganked the son of a bitch. Our whole lives prepping for it…

09:22 PM  05/16/07  
Jesus. Anyways.

09:24 PM  05/16/07  
There’s a lot of things that hide in the dark, Cas. Nightmares are real, and it’s our job to kill them.

09:27 PM  05/16/07  
So. There you have it. That’s it, the family fuckin’ business.

_09:32 PM  05/16/07  
I don’t know what to say._

09:32 PM  05/16/07  
I know how it sounds.

_09:34 PM  05/16/07  
I don’t want to ask, but I must._

_09:34 PM  05/16/07  
Are you…mocking me? Making a joke because of my profession?_

09:35 PM  05/16/07  
No. No frickin’ way.

09:35 PM  05/16/07  
This is me. Laying it out, plain as I can.

_09:36 PM  05/16/07  
You kill monsters._

09:38 PM  05/16/07  
People like us, we know what’s out there. We’re just doing our best to save the people who don’t.

_09:39 PM  05/16/07  
People like you._

09:40 PM  05/16/07  
There’s a few of us, yeah. Probably a couple dozen in the States. Can’t say for sure.

09:42 PM  05/16/07  
Hunters work alone, mostly.

09:45 PM  05/16/07  
Come on, man. Tell me what you’re thinking here.

_09:47 PM  05/16/07  
How can I believe this, Dean? _

_09:47 PM  05/16/07  
Demons and ghosts? Vampires?_

09:50 PM  05/16/07  
Oh, gee, I don’t know. Maybe I thought that seeing as you make a living in myth and theology, you might not be so quick to chuck the thought that there could be a little more to it than what you read in your musty old books??

_09:51 PM  05/16/07  
My work is born of a professional interest in societal acceptance of the fantastical! It certainly doesn’t stem from a personal belief that such creatures and deities actually exist in the world!_

09:52 PM  05/16/07  
Well, hate to break it to you, buddy, but if the lore’s there, it’s probably the real fucking deal.

09:54 PM  05/16/07  
Shit, I’m sorry.

09:55 PM  05/16/07  
Didn’t mean to jump on your case over this. Like I said, I know how it sounds.

_09:56 PM  05/16/07  
No. Please, the fault is mine._

_09:58 PM  05/16/07  
I think…I need some time._

10:01 PM  05/16/07  
Yeah, okay. I get it.

_10:02 PM  05/16/07  
No, Dean. It’s not a goodbye. _

_10:02 PM  05/16/07  
I just need to think._

10:05 PM  05/16/07  
Yeah, okay.

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

The desk is a mess of vaguely-organized clutter. A stack of books next to a jumble of pens and a scrawled-upon notepad; a pair of dirty coffee mugs pushed somewhat to the side; a mostly-empty take-out box perched precariously at the desk’s edge. There are piles of papers, carefully labeled and annotated – print-outs and copies from more than a dozen news media sources.   

Castiel, elbow braced atop a haphazardly-folded U.S. road map and head resting in hand, stares unseeing at the illuminated computer monitor before him. The screen displays a DOC Wanted profile. The time at the corner reads 2:27 AM.

Vampires in Missouri. A Djinn in Joliet. Spirits; a prison in Arkansas, a Los Angeles movie studio.

Castiel blinks his way back to awareness and reaches for the desk’s third mug, this one half full. He drinks the coffee long gone cold and grimaces at the sour taste. He takes another sip, regardless.

He sits, and thinks. And sits, and breathes. And breathes.

Eventually, he pushes back his chair – tries again with a frown and a little more _oomph_ when one of the rolling wheels catches on an errant highlighter – and goes to make more coffee.

 

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

_05:20 PM  05/21/07  
The electrical storms, on the night of the 3 rd. _

05:39 PM  05/21/07  
Yeah, that was us.

_05:40 PM  05/21/07  
How? They were freak storms, and there were occurrences across the country._

05:41 PM  05/21/07  
It’s some really heavy stuff. You sure you want to know?

_05:41 PM  05/21/07  
Yes._

05:44 PM  05/21/07  
The demon who killed our parents, we called him Yellow Eyes. Don’t know who he was, really, but he’s big fish. Like nothing we’ve ever seen before.

05:44 PM  05/21/07  
He opened a devil’s gate, that night. In Wyoming.

_05:45 PM  05/21/07  
What does that mean, Dean?_

05:46 PM  05/21/07  
It means a gate to Hell, man. Left wide open long enough to let out at least a few hundred demons before we could slam it back shut.

05:46 PM  05/21/07  
Those ‘storms’ were demon smoke.

_05:48 PM  05/21/07  
And demons, are they as Judeo-Christian scripture says? They take a human host; their sole purpose to sow the seeds of discontent and chaos?_

05:49 PM  05/21/07  
Yeah, Cas, that’s pretty much the gist of it.

_05:50 PM  05/21/07  
The missing persons, after the storms._

05:50 PM  05/21/07  
Yeah.

05:53 PM  05/21/07  
They possess some poor bastard, do their best to raise a little hell. And you can’t kill them, not in any usual way; the only thing a bullet to the heart will do is piss off the demon and snuff the person they’re riding. If you’re lucky you can trap it and exorcise it…

05:53 PM  05/21/07  
But they’re tricky, man. Dangerous as hell.

05:54 PM  05/21/07  
Demons aren’t like… I dunno, rawheads or wraiths. Creatures are easy. Predictable. But demons, they’re smart.

05:56 PM  05/21/07  
And, hell, until two years ago I’d never even run into one before! Now we’ve got a freaking army on our hands and no idea what they’re up to. If there’s some master plan, here, they’re keeping a pretty tight lid on it.

_05:58 PM  05/21/07  
‘For they are spirits of demons, performing signs, who go abroad to the kings of the earth to assemble them for battle on the great day of God the Almighty.’_

_05:58 PM  05/21/07  
Revelations._

05:59 PM  05/21/07  
Fuck.

_06:00 PM  05/21/07  
Indeed._

06:02 PM  05/21/07  
Alright. Fucking peachy. We’ll…look into that.

06:04 PM  05/21/07  
But, look, let’s not get started in on any ‘the end is nigh’ bullshit. At this point we’ve got no clue, and here’s hoping that putting down Yellow Eyes threw a major wrench in the works.

06:05 PM  05/21/07  
It won’t stay quiet for long, though. I ain’t that lucky.

06:08 PM  05/21/07  
So… You still thinking of losing my number?

_06:10 PM  05/21/07  
The women, in St. Louis._

```

_06:10 PM  05/21/07_

_Incoming call_

“Dean.”

“You gotta hear me, man. That was _not me_ , alright?”

“The physical evidence alone—”

“ _No_ , Cas, it was a fucking shapeshifter! And, Jesus, I know, okay? I know it sounds crazy, but I did _not_ kill those people.”

“A shapeshifter.”

“Damn right. Fucker stole my face after we rolled into town, hunting it.”

“The…unidentified biological matter found at the last crime scene.”

“Yes! Silver will kill them, but then they…melt, or something. I don’t know, it’s friggin’ disgusting.”

“Dean…”

“Wait, just…wait. You did some digging, right? I get it, no way you’d buy what I’m selling if you didn’t. So how ‘bout this. We ran into another shapeshifter case in Milwaukee, back in…uh, January, I think. Look into it, okay? The news reports that clued us in on it _reeked_ of shifter.”

“Milwaukee. You refer to you and your brother’s attempted armed robbery.”

“Oh…fuck. I…kinda forgot that bit. You really did your homework, huh?”

“Yes, I did. Explain.”

“It was a _shifter_ , Cas! It was robbing all kinds of places, working inside jobs as look-a-likes and killin’ the genuine article! We got caught up in that shit show at the bank trying to gank the bastard!”

“The witness accounts were…conflicting.”

“No kidding. We were there to help, not rob the damn place!”

“…The _Winchester brothers._ Dean, you’re wanted by the FBI!”

“Dude, I’m rockin’ that Blue Steel, right?”

“This, all of this, is…unimaginable.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I know. But, I just— I got tired of lying to you, man.”

“My god, _demons_.”

“…”

“…”

“You, uh, you believin’ us, Cas?”

“I believe…you would not lie to me. Not on this. And I believe what I see. I can follow the patterns that seem to guide you well enough, and…those storms… It’s beyond reasoning.”

“Yeah, that’s… That’s big, even for us. We’re working on it.”

“Dean. Whatever you would allow, I would like to know. Everything.”

“Everything is…it’s kinda a lot.”

“We have time.”

```

Dean slides back into the room, still reeling from his talk with Cas. What had initially been a panic-fueled impulse call had quickly turned to an hour-and-a-half rundown on supernatural spooks and shockingly non-judgmental conversation on Dean’s experiences as a hunter.

He thinks again, inevitably, of Cassie – the only other person besides Cas he’s ever _told_ , really told, about the real Dean Winchester. At the time, he’d thought out a dozen justifications for telling her the truth (he was in love, for her safety, her job as a reporter; he could show her the evidence of his hunts and she would understand, she had to understand) and he’d had so much hope. False hope, as it happened, and he’d thought he’d learned his lesson. Even if it had turned out alright in the end.

But with Cas…

Well, Dean had meant it when he said he was tired of lying.

Sure, Dean can put on a fake name and a fake smile and spin a story with the best of them, but that’s just a means to an end; he’s not used to hiding from the people who _matter_. And fuck knows when or why or how but somewhere along the way Cas became someone who does matter; a voice in his ear and words on a screen that have somehow become the best part of his day. Cas is someone he can talk to ( _a friend, Cas said friend_ ) and he’s something good, something _normal_ that Dean’s never really had before and holy shit, _Cas_ _believes_ _him_.  

Dean is suddenly pulled from his thoughts when Sam, lounging in bed, grabs the remote and mutes the television; the low babble of the evening news easily ignored except in its absence.

Sam clears his throat and looks at Dean expectantly. “So…you talked to him?”

Dean pulls a face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean what does it mean? What’d Cas say?”

“No, seriously, what’s with the face?”

Sam’s features twist and twitch comically as he tries – and fails – to wipe the knowing smirk from his expression. “What, me? You’re the one who’s all…” Sam flaps a hand in Dean’s direction, “smiley.”

“What?” he splutters, face heating. “No I’m not!” and Dean ignores Sam’s look number _yeah, sure_ to stalk towards the bathroom, phone still in hand.  

“So it went well, right?” Sam calls at Dean’s back, and receives the _thump_ of a closed door in response. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Pause. “Tell Cas I say hi!”

“Fuck off, Samantha!”

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_12:15 PM  05/22/07  
I couldn’t help but notice._

12:17 PM  05/22/07  
Notice what?

_12:18 PM  05/22/07  
Your brother is much more reminiscent in appearance to Patrick Swayze than you, Dean._

12:18 PM  05/22/07  
Hey!!

 

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

03:07 PM  05/28/07  
Jesus, I’m so fucking bored.  

_03:09 PM  05/28/07  
In your unique case, I’m not sorry to say that I consider a break in jobs to be a blessing._

03:10 PM  05/28/07  
It’s been weeks!

03:13 PM  05/28/07  
Sam’s out all day falling down the Alice in Demonland rabbit hole to nowhere, Bobby’s a goddamn enabler who keeps pushing case leads to other hunters, and here I am stuck in this pit of a motel with jack-shit to do! I’m going freaking crazy!

03:16 PM  05/28/07  
Oh, dude, Star Trek: DS9 marathon on Spike.

_03:18 PM  05/28/07  
It’s the middle of a weekday afternoon, Dean._

03:20 PM  05/28/07  
Psh. You’re just editing today, right? Come on, Cas, play hooky with me!

_03:21 PM  05/28/07  
It’s…not that I wouldn’t…_

03:21 PM  05/28/07  
But…?

_03:23 PM  05/28/07  
I may or may not be currently indulging in The Animal Planet’s marathon showing of Meerkat Manor. _

03:23 PM  05/28/07  
Oo, you rebel!

03:24 PM  05/28/07  
But, come on, you can do better than Meerkat Manor!

```

07:30 PM  05/28/07  
Okay, no, what, seriously?! These Commandoes up and attack the Lazuli burrow and the Whiskers are just gonna let it fly? Flower needs to shut that shit down!!

_07:31 PM  05/28/07  
My thoughts exactly, Dean._

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

**04:54 PM  05/29/07  
You haven’t told Cas about the deal, have you.**

04:55 PM  05/29/07  
Whoa, what the FUCK, did you say something?!

**04:55 PM  05/29/07  
No, relax! I haven’t said anything, I just know you!**

**04:56 PM  05/29/07  
I was giving you guys some time, seeing as Cas just found out about the hunting. But don’t you think it’s time you told him? **

04:56 PM  05/29/07  
No, I sure as hell don’t. And you won’t either, you hear me?

**04:57 PM  05/29/07  
He could help, Dean!**

**04:57 PM  05/29/07  
He has access to resources we don’t. He may know where to start looking on how to break this!**

04:57 PM  05/29/07  
Shut up, Sam.

**04:58 PM  05/29/07  
He’s literally an expert!**

04:58 PM  05/29/07  
Seriously, shut the fuck up. We’re not talking about this.

**05:00 PM  05/29/07  
Look, I know you don’t want to upset the guy, but we’ve got to explore all our options!**

05:01 PM  05/29/07  
You tell him, you’re a fucking dead man.

05:03 PM  05/29/07  
That’d just be the icing on the great big fucked-up cake, wouldn’t it?

05:04 PM  05/29/07  
“Monsters are real, the world’s a goddamned scary place, and oh yeah, I’m a dead man walking. Nice knowing you, pal.”

**05:05 PM  05/29/07  
You’re not gonna die. We’re gonna figure it out, okay? **

05:07 PM  05/29/07  
Just get your ass back here. You’ve obviously been holed up in that library too damn long.

**05:08 PM  05/29/07  
God, I can’t believe you!**

**05:08 PM  05/29/07**  
**This is your LIFE we’re talking about!**

05:09 PM  05/29/07  
Bring burgers, bitch.

 

``````

**Wednesday**

``````

 

07:41 PM  05/30/07  
And, I shit you not, this chick, cool as a cucumber, says, “I’ve got a bit and harness at mine, stud. You gonna let momma take you for a…ride??”

07:41 PM  05/30/07  
!!!!!!!

 _07:42 PM  05/30/07_  
_Ah. I assume that did not evoke the positive response she was hoping for._

07:43 PM  05/30/07  
You are not freakin’ wrong. I’m all up for trying new things, but there are LINES.

 _07:44 PM  05/30/07_  
_How unexpectedly reasonable of you._

07:44 PM  05/30/07  
Hey, fuck off!

07:46 PM  05/30/07  
Actually…

07:46 PM  05/30/07  
Question.

_07:46 PM  05/30/07  
Yes?_

07:47 PM  05/30/07  
You listen to me talk about this stuff, but you never have much to say about you.

07:48 PM  05/30/07  
You got a girl?

07:48 PM  05/30/07  
Or, you know, a guy.

07:48 PM  05/30/07  
I don’t judge.

_07:50 PM  05/30/07  
Don’t strain yourself._

07:51 PM  05/30/07  
Don’t be a dick, I’m being serious!

_07:51 PM  05/30/07  
I know._

_07:52 PM  05/30/07  
The answer is no, on both counts. I am currently single._

_07:54 PM  05/30/07  
My social life is…_

_07:54 PM  05/30/07  
Perhaps ‘dead’ is the not inaccurate term to apply._

07:55 PM  05/30/07  
What, not even a little weekend nookie? Come on, man, I’ve seen your pics. You should have no problems scoring with the ladies!

_07:56 PM  05/30/07  
I do not often feel the need to seek out such…companionship._

07:57 PM  05/30/07  
What’s the matter, don’t know where to put it?

_07:57 PM  05/30/07  
I ‘know where to put it,’ Dean. _

_08:01 PM  05/30/07  
I was married, once._

08:02 PM  05/30/07  
Uh…wow. Really?

_08:02 PM  05/30/07  
It’s true._

_08:04 PM  05/30/07  
We divorced, two years ago._

08:05 PM  05/30/07  
Wow.

08:08 PM  05/30/07  
So. Feel free to tell me to fuck off, but. There’s gotta be a story there?

_08:09 PM  05/30/07  
You have revealed much of yourself. I don’t mind doing the same._

_08:10 PM  05/30/07  
We married young, following a relatively short courtship._

08:10 PM  05/30/07  
Nobody says ‘courtship,’ dude.

_08:11 PM  05/30/07  
Hush, Dean. _

_08:13 PM  05/30/07  
We were happy, for a time. But we wanted children, and in trying it came to light that I am…biologically unable. Sterile. _

_0_ 8:14 PM  05/30/07  
Christ, that really blows. I’m sorry, Cas.

_08:15 PM  05/30/07  
It was very difficult for the both of us. _

08:17 PM  05/30/07  
_Amelia especially was devastated. We had alternative options, of course, but Amelia is very much a traditionalist._

08:18 PM  05/30/07  
Aw, hell. This is one of those apple pie Bible Belt conservative values things, isn’t it?

_08:19 PM  05/30/07  
In a way. _

_08:22 PM  05/30/07  
She struggled with the reality of being unable to conceive by conventional means. She also disagreed with my academic and professional choices. She found my interest in non-Christian religions…unsavory._

_08:23 PM  05/30/07  
Unfortunately, it proved to be too great a strain on our relationship. She eventually left me for another._

08:24 PM  05/30/07  
Hold the fucking phone.

08:24 PM  05/30/07  
The bitch CHEATED on you?

_08:25 PM  05/30/07  
Dean, please. Amelia was a dear friend._

08:27 PM  05/30/07  
She was your damn WIFE, Cas! If she couldn’t get over herself then she should’ve balls’d up and broke it off BEFORE she decided to shack up with the mailman!

08:28 PM  05/30/07  
_Our neighbor, actually. We knew Roger quite well._

08:29 PM  05/30/07  
Jesus, you actually knew the guy? What the hell, that’s such a dick move!

08:29 PM  05/30/07  
Tell me where this douche lives so I can go break his face.

_08:30 PM  05/30/07  
That would be unnecessary. _

_08:31 PM  05/30/07  
And…redundant._

08:31 PM  05/30/07  
Holy shit. You clocked him one?!

_08:33 PM  05/30/07  
The day I discovered the true nature of their relationship… I lost myself to anger. It was shameful of me to act in such a way.  _

08:34 PM  05/30/07  
Fuck that noise, he totally deserved it.

_08:35 PM  05/30/07  
It’s an old hurt. Truly, I’m only happy they’re happy._

_08:37 PM  05/30/07  
Although._

_08:37 PM  05/30/07  
The offer is…appreciated._

08:38 PM  05/30/07  
Any time, buddy.

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

“What do you mean you don’t think it’ll work, Bobby? It’s a demon dispelling ritua—”

Sam startles at the sudden _rap rap rap_ on the café window and turns to see Dean, smiling as he holds up some newsprint. Sam distractedly waves him in, lowering his voice to say, “Well, maybe we got the translation wrong.” He glances at the building entrance as Dean comes through, hunching into himself even more to rush out, “Look, we can’t just let Dean fry in hell while we—” only to be cut off by Bobby’s _we ain’t lettin’ nothin’, boy, I’m just tellin’ you_ and Sam interjects, “There’s got to be _something_ —” but no, damn it, his brother’s headed straight for the table. “Uh, okay, yeah, no. Ah, _no_ , I gotta go—” Dean pulls out the chair opposite Sam. “Okayyeahnevermind.”

Sam disconnects the call.

“Hey,” Dean greets. “Who was that?”

“Ah, yeah,” Sam says, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He offers a quick half-shrug in the face of Dean’s increasingly wary expression. “I was just…ordering a pizza.”

Shitty lie aside, Dean’s thoroughly confused look around the breakfast café and subsequent distrust of their food is frickin’ hilarious.

```

**09:21 AM  06/02/07  
Hey, Cas.**

_09:24 AM  06/02/07  
Hello, Sam. How are you?_

**09:26 AM  06/02/07  
Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? We haven’t really talked since…you know, before.**

_09:29 AM  06/02/07  
I am…adjusting. If nothing else, I am glad to know the truth of the matter. _

_09:29 AM  06/02/07  
However, I must admit; knowing has done remarkably little to assuage my worry for you both._

**09:30 AM  06/02/07  
Yeah… Sorry about that. It’s not exactly low-hazard, what we do.**

_09:32 AM  06/02/07  
Please don’t apologize. From what I understand, your work is dangerous and thankless, yes, but you do so much good in the world. The both of you. _

_09:33 AM  06/02/07  
To be frank, I’m no less than honored to be trusted with your secrets and gifted your friendship._

**09:35 AM  06/02/07  
Wow. Well…let me tell you, I’m really, REALLY glad you feel that way. I don’t know what Dean would’ve done if you…you know, hadn’t believed us or decided to drop us for “normal” or something.**

**09:35 AM  06/02/07  
Not that we’d blame you, man.**

_09:36 AM  06/02/07  
I don’t regret or resent our association, not for a moment. Remove such thoughts._

**09:38 AM  06/02/07  
That’s pretty awesome, Cas. Thank you, really.**

**09:39 AM  06/02/07  
And, seriously, sorry for the radio silence recently. I’ve been really busy with this case I’m working on.**

_09:41 AM  06/02/07  
The unusual death in Cicero?_

**09:43 AM  06/02/07  
Hah! Dean told you about that? I’m not sure it’s our kind of thing, but what the hell, we’ll go check it out. **

**09:45 AM  06/02/07  
And no…it’s not that. This is kind of something I’m looking into on my own. But…I was maybe hoping you could help me out with a couple things…**

```

05:54 PM  06/02/07  
Jesus, what if he’s really mine?

05:54 PM  06/02/07  
You know my life, I can’t be a dad!

_05:55 PM  06/02/07  
Forgive my forwardness, but…_

_05:55 PM  06/02/07  
Do you want him to be yours?_

05:56 PM  06/02/07  
What? No! No way!

_05:57 PM  06/02/07  
Dean._

05:58 PM  06/02/07  
Shit…

05:58 PM  06/02/07  
I don’t know.

06:00 PM  06/02/07  
You should see him, Cas. He’s such an awesome kid. A little badass in the making.

06:00 PM  06/02/07  
He’s just…he’s amazing, man.

06:02 PM  06/02/07  
And the timing matches up and I swear, he looks JUST like me. No way that’s a coincidence, right?

_06:03 PM  06/02/07  
I don’t know, Dean._

06:04 PM  06/02/07  
What am I even doing? This is fucking insane.

06:04 PM  06/02/07  
Even if he was my kid, what could I do about it?

06:06 PM  06/02/07  
Lisa obviously wants nothing to do with me, and Ben’s eight frickin’ years old! If he’s really mine…then I’m the asshole who’s been out of the picture his whole life! The kid doesn’t know me from Jack!

_06:07 PM  06/02/07  
If he’s yours, I do know that you are in no way to blame for being unaware of his existence to this point. _

_06:07 PM  06/02/07  
That was Lisa’s choice, not yours._

06:08 PM  06/02/07  
Shit, Cas, I’ve always…

06:08 PM  06/02/07  
It’s one of those things I never thought I’d have, you know? Our life, the hunter life…

06:10 PM  06/02/07  
You don’t get to think about this kind of stuff. Kids, family, home. It’s a goddamn pipe dream.

_06:11 PM  06/02/07  
It doesn’t have to be._

_06:11 PM  06/02/07  
You deserve every happiness._

06:13 PM  06/02/07  
Yeah, well. That’s nice and all, but that’s really not how it goes.

06:13 PM  06/02/07  
It’s just… It’s too late for me.

_06:14 PM  06/02/07  
It’s never too late._

 

``````

**Sunday (and Monday)**

``````

 

10:08 AM  06/03/07  
So.

10:08 AM  06/03/07  
Ben’s not mine.

10:10 AM  06/03/07  
Was worried there for a bit, but, yeah. Totally off the hook.

10:10 AM  06/03/07  
That’s one complication I can definitely live without!

10:11 AM  06/03/07  
Thank god, right?

_10:16 AM  06/03/07  
Oh, Dean._

_10:16 AM  06/03/07  
I’m so sorry._

_```_

12:32 AM  06/04/07  
Fuck.

12:33 AM  06/04/07  
Me too, Cas.


	2. Interlude

\---

**JULY**

\---

 

The two guys in section four are having the _weirdest_ conversation.

Jamie had been fighting boredom during the after-lunch lull when they’d come in, tall and broad and _way_ too attractive for a small-town Kentucky Biggerson’s at 2 o’clock on a Wednesday.

The pretty one in the leather jacket (in July? What the hell?) had had his phone out and looked to be texting, leaving the cute one with the floppy hair to ask for a table for two, please. And if Jamie just so happened to seat them at the one window booth close and catty-corner to the hostess stand, granting her a mostly unobscured view of their table…

Well, she’s only human.

She’d surreptitiously watched as the pair seemed to settle in for the long haul, setting up camp with a laptop, newspapers, and even a couple books. Rebecca, their server and Jamie’s casual friend from school – a comradery recently strengthened through a shared despair over the necessity of a shitty summer job – had raised her eyebrows at Jamie as she’d passed after taking their order, mouthing an astonished _oh my god!,_ to which Jamie could only mouth back _I know, right?_

Now, this was already the obvious highlight of Jamie’s week. But then they’d started _talking_ , and suddenly it got _more_ interesting.

Stupidly Cute is intent on the laptop, obviously taking advantage of the free Wi-Fi, and Stupidly Pretty sits opposite in a casual sprawl: legs kicked out, chin braced in one hand as he smirks down at his cell in the other, thumb lazily tapping away.

“Wow. Yeah,” says Stupidly Cute, turning away from the laptop and calling Stupidly Pretty’s attention from his phone. “I think Cas is right on this one.”

“It’s a case?” Stupidly Pretty asks, with not a little skepticism, and Jamie – shamelessly eavesdropping while ostensibly doodling on her seating chart – wonders _a case of what?_

“Looks like it,” the other replies. “There’s tons of corroborative accounts, way too elaborate to be a hoax.”

“But she’s not violent?”

Whoa, are these guys _cops?_

Stupidly Cute blows a sigh and starts rifling through one of the books he’s laid out. “Yeah, no, it’s weird,” he says. “Usually if they’re this animate it’s…you know, their anger.”

Much to Jamie’s disappointment, Rebecca chooses that moment to sidle up to the table with their food, effectively putting the conversation on hold.

“Aw, yeah. Lookin’ good,” Stupidly Pretty chuckles as Rebecca lays out his breakfast slam. Once she moves on, he pulls up his phone and takes a photo of his mid-afternoon breakfast spread.

Jamie barely suppresses a disbelieving scoff. Come on, now. It’s just _Biggerson’s._

Judging from the truly impressive look of how extremely _un_ impressed he is, Stupidly Cute agrees with her. “Really, Dean?”

Stupidly Pretty – Dean, apparently – casually flips his companion the finger. “Shut it, Sam,” he quips, but nevertheless drops the hand holding his cell to his lap. “Just showing Cas what _real_ food looks like.”

Stupidly Cute, aka Sam, rolls his eyes and returns to poking at his own grilled chicken salad.  

They fall quiet, Sam flipping through one of the books and Dean unsubtly texting under the table between bites.

“So you think we should check it out?” Dean eventually asks around a mouthful of hash browns and egg.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam goes back to clicking around on the laptop. “I mean, there’s a lot of activity here. Leaving messages, moving things, showing up in and around the house, the whole nine yards. It’s almost sad,” he pauses, frowns. “She’s really obviously _there_ , you know? It’s almost like she just wants other people to see her, too.”

Dean looks up sharply. “Come on, Sammy, don’t do that to yourself,” he says, attention now 100% on his lunch mate. “They always go vengeful, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, voice subdued.

They go back to their food, then. And while she has _no idea_ what all that was about, Jamie’s pretend doodling eventually turns to contemplative real doodling once it seems no other conversation is forthcoming.

Some time later, it’s Dean who breaks the silence. “At least she’s not likely to come after us when we, uh,” he fists his hands on the tabletop before blowing them out in the universal _boom!_ gesture, complete with _fwoosh!_ sound effects.

Seriously.

_What the hell._

“Well,” Sam says, slow, and fidgetingly tucks his hair behind his ears. “What if, what if we don’t? I mean, it really looks like she’s just hanging around. And I know we don’t know her story yet, but Cas is looking into it, right?” A slight nod from Dean. “What if we just try to talk to her?”

Dean looks doubtful. “I don’t know, man. That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Hey, it’s not like we have to decide right now,” Sam placates and begins to pack up his things. Rebecca, from one of her other tables, takes note and in short order is delivering the check to Hot and Hotter. Dean takes the receipt from her with a wink and a drawled “Thank you, darlin’,” all charm. It’s Sam, though, who slaps down a couple bills, again rolling his eyes at Dean’s antics.

Rebecca manages to stammer out a reply and retreats, face flaming. Jamie is both sympathetic and _seriously_ jealous.

“Come on,” Sam says as he somehow maneuvers all eight foot twenty of himself out of the booth. “We can head that way and see what kind of info we can scrounge up.”

“Alright,” Dean says with enthusiasm, standing as well. “Let’s bust this thing, _à la_ Melinda Gordon style.”

“Saying ‘ _à la_ ’ and ‘style’ is redundant,” Sam smarms as they pass Jamie’s post on their way out, earning him indignation and a shoulder-shove from Dean. They’re both smiling, though, as they push through the building’s exit.

And then they’re gone.

Really. _So_ weird.

 

\---

**AUGUST**

\---

 

It’s a Thursday, and Thursdays, for Gail, mean a long and balmy day at the Daley Plaza.

“Cas- _tiel_ ,” Gail chides as the man approaches, hands to hips, the picture of grandmotherly admonishment, “it’s much too hot out for something as absurd as _exercise_.”

Castiel flashes a smile, wide and gummy, before forcibly schooling his features. “Yes,” he says, serious and intent. “Physical activity, healthy living,” he casts a meaningful look around the farmers market, surrounded on all sides by home-made commodities and organic produce. “A truly laughable consideration.”

Gail, long-wise to Castiel’s tactics, ignores the needling completely and eyes Castiel’s sweat-soaked tee and flushed complexion. “If you must take your runs, at least frequent a gym like a sensible person,” she sniffs. “I’d be much less concerned you’ll one day knock over my stall in a dramatic heat-induced _swoon._ ”

“I much prefer the parks,” Castiel hums as he begins to browse through Gail’s stock. He picks up a jar of spiced pumpkin butter, squinting dubiously at the hand-inscribed ingredients label before gently placing it back on the stand. “How are the hives?” he inquires, sure as clockwork.

“The hives are _fine_ , Castiel,” she assures, same as every week he inevitably asks. Castiel at least has the good grace to look mildly sheepish over his wealth of worry for bee endangerment.

“And Joseph?”

Gail scoffs. “Stupid dog,” she says, though not without affection. “Ten pounds, a _ten pound_ tub of pectin, and he tips it over! How did he even manage it? He didn’t want to eat it, of course, just make a mess of things!”

Castiel huffs a laugh at Gail’s effusiveness, and tips his head to indicate the colorful cluster of jam and jelly jars along the bench. “Unfortunate, yes,” he says, overly sincere. “Though I’m glad to see your loss of stock hasn’t negatively affected today’s turnout.”

“Smartass,” Gail returns, with an eye roll and reluctant smile. She watches as Castiel deliberates his options and makes his selections – this week, a jar each of wildflower honey and lingonberry jam. She plucks a small jar from the counter and holds it out for Castiel to take. “This, too,” she insists, and Castiel takes the yellow jelly to read the label.

He spares Gail an inquisitive look. “Lemon basil?”

“I had basil, I had lemon.” Gail shrugs. “I tried something new. Tell me if you like it.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, and sets his chosen goods next to the half-barrel of wildflower bouquets Gail puts aside for five dollars a bunch. She looks on with amusement as Castiel arranges the jars in such a way that satisfies his aesthetics – yes, she knows this routine well – before pulling out his phone to carefully frame his photo of the week’s purchases.

“And how’s Dean?” Gail asks archly.

“Dean is well,” Castiel replies, dry as dust. “And he’s a _friend_ , Gail.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware,” she says, quick and unconcerned, and accepts the bills Castiel hands over as payment. She winks. “I’ll ask again next week.”

Castiel only fixes her with a stern mock-glare before collecting his purchases and moving along from the stall. Gail watches as he wanders away, not bothering to suppress her smile as she sees him pause to snap a picture of a crate of purple asparagus. Castiel squints endearingly at the screen as he then, presumably, sends it to his _friend._

Ah, to be young and in love.

 

\---

**SEPTEMBER**

\---

 

Sam comes awake gradually; a slow, sleepy pull towards consciousness he isn’t particularly interested in abiding. He’s tired, warm, comfortable, and there’s that familiar and undefinable something – _no, not yet, you’ve got time –_ telling him that morning is not yet here.

But there’s something prickling at Sam’s awareness, some outside noise or inconsistency in routine that eventually leads to Sam blinking away sleep and hazy, half-forgotten dreams of golden retrievers and rainbow suspenders.

It _is,_ in fact, a noise that’s roused him. Sounds that, after a moment’s puzzling, resolve into the low and muffled burr of his brother’s voice. A voice that’s coming from completely the wrong direction, Sam realizes as he squints across to the tousled – but empty – second bed of their room-of-the-week. Sam shifts his eyes over to the annoyingly harsh red glare of the clock at the bedside table; the blurred numbers informing him that, at 3:04 AM, it’s definitely too early for this shit. Sam flops onto his back with a huff and rolls his head along the pillow to see, sure enough, light spilling out from under the crack of the closed bathroom door.

He hears again a short clip of Dean speaking, some response too quiet and brief for Sam to make out the individual words. He _does_ register the unexpected closeness of the sound, though, and takes note of the shadow that cuts off a chunk of light along the floor where Dean must be sitting on the bathroom tiles, back against the door.

What the hell, Dean?

After a pause, Dean is talking again, and Sam strains to hear what’s being said.

_“I was a goddamn kid. I just… I wish I’d had more time with her, you know?”_

Sam sucks in a breath, short and sharp with surprise.

 _“I— It’s like— If we’d had more time, I wouldn’t be_ forgetting— _”_

A weighty and muted _thunk,_ then: the frustrated strike of a closed fist against drywall, or maybe the tired drop of a heavy head against cheap, hollow wood.

_“Jesus, Cas, I can’t…”_

There’s a long and – for Sam, who feels very suddenly helpless and lost and 5 years old, watching Dean watch the door, waiting for Dad, two days gone – suffocating silence.

_“Yeah…”_

Another pause.

_“Yeah…yeah, buddy, I know.”_

And at that, Sam shuts his eyes tight against the inevitable wetness and thinks, not for the first time, _thank God for Dr. Castiel James Novak._

_“She was…she was tall, I think, and, uh, she was blond. I was too, back then, and she would…uh, she would play with it a lot. My hair, I mean. She would say blond meant…bein’ blond meant fairy-blessed. Forever lucky, or…I dunno, somethin’ like that. And…she liked to sing, you know? Always humming or singing somethin’…”_

Dean keeps it up and Sam…listens. Stories and half-remembered impressions and choked-off huffs of sad, fond amusement. Sam listens, and eventually, inevitably – despite the continued murmur of a voice that has always meant _home_ , the spinning thoughts of _I never knew_ , the ache somewhere deep – he drifts back to sleep.

 

\---

**OCTOBER**

\---

 

08:18 AM  10/21/07  
Do you have any ink?

_08:22 AM  10/21/07  
You…would like me to send you some ink?_

```

Juan is sketching at the front counter, his back to the shop proper, when the merry jingle of the bell above the door alerts him to a new arrival.

 _“¡Hola!”_ he calls, still intent on the leafy greenery he’s detailing. “ _Un momento_ , be right with you.”

The newcomer hums an acknowledgement – some dude, not immediately familiar from sound alone; probably a customer. Juan’s honestly happy for the interruption – he’s been trying to get a feel for this jungle-themed sleeve that’s coming in later in the week for what seems like hours – but he takes his time on the lines, gives himself a minute to get to a place he’s content to stop for now.

Soon enough, Juan sets down his pencil and turns to the front. The guy seems pretty absorbed in looking along the various designs on the inspiration wall, so Juan takes the chance to give him an unobserved once-over. The scruffiness and creeper trench say _homeless,_ but the dude’s also wearing a suit, so probably not. He sure doesn’t look like a customer, though. Given _Ser Rey Tattoos’_ proximity to the university, Juan’s usual clientele tends towards nervous co-eds and stoned grad students. Not, if he had to guess, 30-something businessmen.

“Eh, _mano_ , sorry ‘bout that. What can I do you for?”

“It’s no problem,” the guy fucking _rumbles_ , holy shit, Juan wants a cough drop just listening to him. “I need a tattoo.”

Well, whad’ya know, customer after all.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Tall, dark, and be-trenched finally turns from the wall and steps up to the counter.

Juan…stares. Oh _híjole_ , but this guy’s a looker. The stranger is predictably wind-swept – Chicago, love it or leave it – but the disheveled look is definitely working for this dude. And hell _-o_ , Blue Eyes.

“Yeah, we can do that.” Juan finds his voice, recovers with a smile. He reaches a hand out over the counter. “I’m Juan.”

“Castiel,” the man replies with a firm handshake and slight smile of his own.

“Castiel,” Juan rolls, trying it out; soft _a_ and hard flick of the _t_. “Nice to meet you.”

Juan pulls back and raps a knuckle against the counter. “So, you know what you want? Or do you wanna look at some of my books?”

“I know what I want.” Castiel digs into one oversized pocket to pull out a cell phone. “I have a photograph.”

He taps at the screen for a few moments before pausing, suddenly seeming hesitant. _Really,_ the guy looks straight-up caught out at something; going from zero to shifty-eyed in a way that’s actually pretty funny. Juan’s no stranger to jittery and embarrassed clients, after all.

Before he can think much of it, though, Castiel darts him an uneasy glance and palms uncomfortably at the back of his neck as he reluctantly passes over the phone.

Juan’s eyes catch and stick on the screen. Staring. Again.

 _Bow chick-a wow_ _,_ is his first thought, which is hilarious and absurd for any number of reasons; not least of which being, at a second glance, the pic isn’t all _that_ much to look at. The focus is obviously the tattoo, a bold flaming pentagram in black, but there’s something about the rest of the shot – a smattering of freckles, the shadow of collar bone, the tight stretch of neck that meets the curve of one toned, bare shoulder – that seems _incredibly_ suggestive.

Juan shakes it off, deciding to at least pretend to be a professional. “You want it just like this?”

“Yes,” Castiel intones, seeming to have collected his cool now that they’re talking business. “It must look exactly the same. That’s very important.”

“Oookay…can do.” Man, this guy is _intense._ “Where do you want it?” Juan asks as he pulls out his pens and a blank sheet of printer paper.

Castiel seems surprised at that, as if he hadn’t thought it out that far. Looking mildly confused, he frowns down at his chest and arms: _What, this?_

It’s pretty fucking adorable.

“My forearm,” he answers eventually. “The right.”

“Cool,” Juan says, distracted, fiddling with the touch screen – new iPhone, sweet – to blow up the picture to get a good look at exactly where the breaks in the lines of the pentagram lie. Before he gets started, though, “The trace’ll take me ‘bout 15, 20 _minutos_. The tat should take…” Juan does some mental math, tonguing contemplatively at one of his snake bite piercings, “…an hour? You wanna get it done now?”

_“Sí, está bien.”_

Juan quirks a brow. _“¿Hablas español?”_

 _“Un poquito,”_ Castiel responds with a wry smile. “I’ve spent some time in Ecuador.”

 _“Chido.”_ Juan grins down at his paper and begins to draw. Yeah, dude’s a little strange, but definitely not one of Juan’s strangest. “Alright, Castiel, let’s hook you up.”


	3. Part II

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

**09:14 PM  11/05/07  
Whatever, Dean. You can do what you want, but I’ve got actual work to do.**

```

_(“Seriously? Atlantic City?”_

_“Hell, yeah.”)_

Dean stuffs his phone in his pocket with a huff, rolling his eyes at the world at large over his brother’s passive aggressive prissiness. But that’s Sam, predictable as ever, and Dean was counting on being on his own tonight. He pulls the thick envelope from his jacket, looking down at it with something tight in his chest; a something that feels suspiciously like yearning for opportunities lost.

_(“So here. It’s $10,000. That should cover it.”_

_Bela arches a brow at the brothers’ identical looks of incredulity. “I don’t like being in anyone’s debt.”_

_“So, ponying up ten grand is easier for you than a simple thank you?” Dean scoffs. “You’re so damaged.”)_

A week of freaky ghost pirates and having to deal with Bela friggin’ Talbot, but at least one good thing can come of it.

Dean feels carefully over the package’s contents – thick fold of bills, small bundle of protective herbs, and an iron obfuscation charm which should prevent anyone at the post office from looking too closely, not unlike the one they keep in the Impala to avert unwanted attention. He tucks inside a slip of a note – _for Ben_ – and seals the envelope tight, dropping it into the post box with little fanfare; soon to be on its way to Cicero, Indiana.

Dean turns to walk the few blocks over to Bally’s, hunched deep into his jacket in an attempt to ward off the November chill. He’s got enough of his own money to spend a few hours outplaying the tourists and drunks at poker; rake in enough that Sam will buy into thinking he sunk most of Bela’s money in the slots or something equally casino cliché.

First, though, he needs a fucking drink.

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_02:43 PM  11/06/07  
They were technically sea merchants._

02:43 PM  11/06/07  
GHOST PIRATES

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

“Hey, uh,” Sam calls to Dean, “give me your phone.”

Dean exits the bathroom, toweling his face dry from his quick wash-up following a long and fruitless day combing Albany for any sign of Gordon Walker. “What for?”

“Well,” Sam says as he carefully extracts the SIM card from his own cell, “if Gordon knows our cell numbers, he can use the signal to track us down.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says thoughtfully, pulling from his pocket the item in question. “Smart.”

Sam nods and reaches for the phone in Dean’s hand. Dean instantly scurries back; cell clutched protectively to his chest.

Dean goes hot with embarrassment. Jesus Christ, he might as well’ve hissed a _Gollum, my precious_ , too; really complete the image.

Sam blinks, eyebrows creeping high. “Uh…”

“Give me a minute!” Dean snaps, retreating into defensiveness. “I gotta, uh,” he drops his eyes to the phone, quickly losing steam. “I mean, it could be a few days, I should…”

Dean’s head whips up at an abrupt, choking cough from Sam which may or may not have been a poorly concealed laugh. “Yeah,” says Sam, voice tellingly tight behind a pursed mouth, lips twitching at the corners, “you should text your boyfr—”

“He’s _not_ my—”

“Cas!” Sam quickly amends. “You should text Cas, first. Don’t want him to worry,” he continues with barely-veiled mirth. “I’ll just, um, give you a minute.”

Sam then – in a show of great magnanimity – slowly and deliberately turns away, leaving Dean to glare ineffectually at his back.

Dean’s not so proud, though, that he doesn’t do exactly as suggested.

```

04:25 PM  11/16/07  
Hey, Sam and I have gotta burn these cell numbers.

04:25 PM  11/16/07  
I’ll get back in touch as soon as we take care of this Walker bullshit, okay?

_04:26 PM  11/16/07  
Are you alright? Is there anything I can do to help?_

04:27 PM  11/16/07  
Nah, we’re alright. We just don’t want Walker to be able to track us down.

04:27 PM  11/16/07  
He’s a hunter, knows all the tricks. So…

_04:28 PM  11/16/07  
Please stay safe._

04:28 PM  11/16/07  
We are! This is me, playing it safe!

04:29 PM  11/16/07  
You’ve got Bobby’s number, right?

_04:30 PM  11/16/07  
Yes._

04:30 PM  11/16/07  
Okay, so…

04:32 PM  11/16/07  
Give me five days, tops. If you haven’t heard from either of us by then…

04:32 PM  11/16/07  
Just call Bobby.

_04:33 PM  11/16/07  
Please, Dean. Don’t die for this._

04:34 PM  11/16/07  
Not today, Cas. I wouldn’t give the fucker the satisfaction.

04:35 PM  11/16/07  
And YOU make sure you don’t, like, drop your phone in the toilet or something. Keep your number, you hear me?

_04:36 PM  11/16/07  
I will._

04:37 PM  11/16/07  
Okay. Good.

04:37 PM  11/16/07  
Dean, out.

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

_(“You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”_

_“Yeah, I do. You’re scared, Dean! You’re scared because your year is running out and you’re still going to Hell and you’re_ freaked. _”_

_“And how do you know that?”_

_“Because I know you!”)_

```

_06:12 PM  11/18/07_

_Incoming call_

“Hello, this is Castiel.”

“Hey, Cas… It’s, uh, it’s…”

“Sam? Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, no, uh, sorry Cas— Everything’s fine, I just… It’s been a really shitty few days, I guess.”

“Where is Dean? Is he alright?”

“Dean’s _fine_. A _dick_ , but he’s fine. I think he’s out at some bar, of fucking course.”

“Sam…are _you_ alright? Did something happen with Dean?”

“I don’t… I don’t really want to talk about Dean right now.”

“Oh. That’s fine, of course.”

“…”

“I’ve, um, been making significant progress in the translations you requested. As you suspected, the text is obviously a demonic lexicon of sorts. Though, strangely, the order of the entries seems to suggest a running history of demonic, psudo-familial ties: a hierarchy that reads almost as a genealogy, it’s quite intere—”

“Hey, uh… Can we not talk about that, either?”

“…Oh. My apologi—”

“No, god, sorry, I mean— Seriously, thank you so much for helping out—”

“It’s a stressful time for you, I completely understa—”

“Right! Right, yeah, let’s just… I don’t really want to think about work right now.”

“Of course.”

“…”

“…Sam?”

“I guess, IguessIjustneededafriend.”

“Oh.”

“Is that…okay?”

“Sam…did you know the Big Dipper ‘constellation’ is not a constellation at all?”

“Um…”

“The Big Dipper is, in fact, an asterism. It consists entirely of the seven brightest stars of the larger constellation Ursa Major. ‘The Great Bear.’”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. In Roman myth, Jupiter – the king of the Gods – became infatuated with a young woman named Callisto. When Juno, Jupiter’s jealous wife, learned of the affair, she went into a rage and transformed the beautiful Callisto into a bear. Now Jupiter, lover or not, was not well known for his compassion, and that may have been the end of it – Callisto resigned to her fate. But, you see, Callisto had a son…”

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_05:21 PM  11/20/07  
Home at last. _

_05:21 PM  11/20/07  
Today was…tiring, to say the least._

05:24 PM  11/20/07  
Aww, did the kiddos wear you out today?

_05:26 PM  11/20/07  
Don’t let what you read or see on TV fool you, graduate students are as bad as Kindergarteners on the day before school break._

05:27 PM  11/20/07  
Dang. Is it Thanksgiving already?

_05:27 PM  11/20/07  
It is. You didn’t realize?_

05:28 PM  11/20/07  
Eh, well, we’re not really holiday people.

_05:29 PM  11/20/07  
Neither am I, I suppose._

05:29 PM  11/20/07  
Yeah? No family around to carve up a turkey with?

_05:31 PM  11/20/07  
No family, no._

05:32 PM  11/20/07  
Oh.

05:33 PM  11/20/07  
Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring up something sucky for you.

_05:34 PM  11/20/07  
It’s fine, Dean._

_05:36 PM  11/20/07  
My parents met and married later in life. They both passed of old age in recent years._

_05:36 PM  11/20/07  
They were happy._

05:37 PM  11/20/07  
That’s real nice, Cas.

05:37 PM  11/20/07  
It’s good, I mean. You had something good.

_05:38 PM  11/20/07  
It was. I did. _

05:39 PM  11/20/07  
No brothers? Sisters?

_05:41 PM  11/20/07  
I am an only child. My mother was unsure they would be able to conceive at all, due to her advanced age, and they were ultimately content to stop at one._

_05:43 PM  11/20/07  
I was a gift, she would say. To anyone and everyone who would listen._

_05:43 PM  11/20/07  
It was endlessly embarrassing, of course._

05:44 PM  11/20/07  
Ha! Yeah, bet you loved that.

_05:45 PM  11/20/07  
You mock my adolescent pain?_

05:46 PM  11/20/07  
Who, me?

_05:46 PM  11/20/07  
Hm._

05:49 PM  11/20/07  
Okay, so…

05:50 PM  11/20/07  
Let’s do Turkey Day.

05:50 PM  11/20/07  
You and me, let’s do it.

_05:51 PM  11/20/07  
Do…Turkey Day?_

05:52 PM  11/20/07  
Yeah! Diners always have a Thanksgiving plate special; I’ll have my turkey dinner, but only if you do too.

_05:54 PM  11/20/07  
My mother… She would make and freeze turkey pot pies as a way to utilize Thanksgiving leftovers._

_05:55 PM  11/20/07  
I think I would like to try to make one, for Thursday. A turkey pot pie._

05:58 PM  11/20/07  
That’s perfect, Cas. It’ll be awesome.

_06:00 PM  11/20/07  
Thank you, Dean._

_06:00 PM  11/20/07  
Let’s do Turkey Day._

 

``````

**Thursday**

``````

 

Castiel pokes despondently at the dish on the counter before him. “I fail to see how this is funny.”

Dean tumbles into a fresh round of hysterics. _“I-It’s a—”_ Dean stutters through his laughter, audio crackling lightly through the phone at Castiel’s ear. _“It’s a f-fuckin’ dumpling!”_

Castiel sighs down at the culinary disaster in question. The pie’s edges are burnt beyond edibility, and at some point in the baking process the pastry seemed to have…cracked, an entire half of the top crust sunken into the creamy (oh, fine, _soupy_ ) broth, turkey and vegetable filling.

All-in-all it’s a charred, lopsided, soggy mess. But as Dean’s cackling calms to unattractive snorting and breathless giggles, Castiel feels a smile of his own steal across his face, one which he can’t seem to wipe away, and he can always, always be thankful for that.

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

03:03 PM  12/07/07  
PERFECT

03:04 PM  12/07/07  
Terminator. TNT. 6 tonight. Tune in and we can educate your alien ass because honestly, HOW have you never seen this movie?

_03:11 PM  12/07/07  
I’m sorry, I can’t tonight._

_03:11 PM  12/07/07  
I have a date._

03:13 PM 12/07/07  
Wait, what?

03:13 PM  12/07/07  
You scored an honest-to-god date and didn’t tell me??

_03:14 PM  12/07/07  
I suppose it never came up._

03:15 PM  12/07/07  
Bullshit, we talk all the time! You could’ve brought it up!

_03:16 PM  12/07/07  
It’s only a first date, Dean. I hardly know the woman. _

_03:17 PM  12/07/07  
We met at the parks._

03:18 PM  12/07/07  
Oh, gross, I can’t believe you’re still going running. Isn’t it like, 4° out there?

_03:18 PM  12/07/07  
It’s…bracing._

03:19 PM  12/07/07  
Crazy, man. Worse than fuckin’ Sammy.

03:22 PM  12/07/07  
But hey, a date! That’s cool, right?

_03:23 PM  12/07/07  
Yes, she seems an interesting person. I hope it goes well._

03:24 PM  12/07/07  
Well…good.

03:27 PM  12/07/07  
I didn’t know you were, like…dating, though.

_03:28 PM  12/07/07  
Why wouldn’t I be? Aren’t most people searching for companionship in life?_

03:29 PM  12/07/07  
No, yeah, you totally should! I mean, it’s cool. Totally cool.

03:30 PM  12/07/07  
Just didn’t think much about it, I guess.

03:30 PM  12/07/07  
But, yeah. Dates are good!

03:35 PM  12/07/07  
Raincheck on The Terminator, though, right?

_03:37 PM  12/07/07  
Of course, Dean. _

```

06:42 PM  12/07/07  
So, wait, is this a ‘wine and dine’ date or a ‘drinks out, coffee at mine’ date?

```

Castiel is already seated when Natalie arrives, looking quite nice in a black dress and deep green shawl, honey hair pulled into a neat over-the-shoulder braid that very much suits her pleasant features.

Castiel half-rises as he sees her approach, but sinks back into his chair as she seats herself with a flustered, “Oh, hi, I’m so sorry, have you been waiting long?”

He hasn’t, and is slightly confused as to why she feels the need to apologize when she herself is at least five minutes early to their pre-arranged meeting time and has thus done nothing wrong. Human nature, he supposes, and offers his reassurance and greetings in turn as Natalie settles herself at the table.

They quickly fall into a somewhat awkward silence. Castiel unnecessarily clears his throat, snatching up the wine list and thumbing it open.

“Red, or white?”

```

06:46 PM  12/07/07  
Dude, make sure you tell her she’s looking good.

06:47 PM  12/07/07  
I don’t care what they say: flattery will get you ANYwhere.

```

_bzzt_

Natalie is halfway to reaching for her purse before seeming to realize the alert originated from Castiel’s phone rather than her own. Castiel, for his part, is unconcerned; keeping his phone in his pocket and not inconsiderable focus on his date.

“I’m glad you agreed to meet with me tonight,” he says. “I would very much like to get to know you.”

A faint blush stains Natalie’s cheeks as she ducks her head to hide her pleased smile. “Yeah, definitely. Me, too.”

_bzzt, bzzt_

“Do you need to get that?” Natalie asks lightly, mouth quirked teasingly. “Sounds important.”

“Likely not,” Castiel demurs. “It’s probably just Dean.”

```

07:11 PM  12/07/07  
Okay, I’ve got it.

07:11 PM  12/07/07  
Codeword: Birdcage

07:13 PM  12/07/07  
Emergency extraction. Just give the word and I’ve got you covered with a good ol’ fashioned ‘family crisis’ call, alright?

```

“He is…crass. And irreverent. Often equal parts enthusiasm and churlishness.” Castiel pauses, eyes in the middle distance and completely oblivious to his date’s expression; confused eyes and brows high in surprise. “He hurts, I think, under the weight of his responsibilities. Which are many. And Dean would never admit to it, of course, but he has such tremendous capacity for caring. Too much so, I fear.” A wry twist of lips. “He is perhaps the best man I’ve ever known.”

```

07:24 PM  12/07/07  
You know, just in case she’s crazy-cakes.

```

Castiel pokes thoughtfully at his lasagna. He frowns.

“Though I do sometimes worry for his poor eating habits.”

```

07:45 PM  12/07/07  
You’ve got protection, right?

```

_bzzt, bzzt_

```

08:02 PM  12/07/07  
And Cas, for the love of god. DO NOT TALK ABOUT THE BEES.

```

Castiel looks earnestly across to Natalie, hands folded on the table beside a forgotten cup of espresso.

“Deforestation and poaching are a real and present danger to many critically endangered species in several African regions,” he says. “Were you aware of the recent population decline of the Eastern Lowland Gorilla?”

```

Dean is Dean and Dean is _weird_ , okay?

Now, Sam won’t say he doesn’t _notice_ the (many and varied) ups and downs of his brother’s moods, but experience has taught that sometimes it’s best to just step back and let it pass. Because one, Dean’s neuroses over any perceived encroachment into ‘feelings’ territory are at best annoying as shit and at worst will result in another _fuck-it-I’m-dead-anyways_ trip to Atlantic City, and two, he _really_ doesn’t want to be subjected to another 45-minute rant over the survivalist fails and crime-against-canon discrepancies in the novel-to-film adaptation of _I Am Legend_ , thank you very much.

(Which, seriously? Fuck you, Dean, Will Smith was badass as hell.)

Point is, Sam has learned to pick and choose those particular battles. But there are _limits_.

“Will you _stop that?_ ”

Dean, predictably, ignores him entirely and continues to flip through the channels on the motel TV, never staying on one for more than three seconds before moving to the next. The volume is obnoxiously loud, and this has been going on for long enough that even Sam – who’s been _trying_ to research for new cases – could at this point list off every program currently showing on the meagre 20-something channels available.

“Dunno what you mean, Sammy,” Dean grunts, but mercifully puts down the remote, instead trading to his second favorite activity of the evening: scowling at his cell.

“What’s going on with you?” Sam asks, turning in his chair to fully face Dean across the room. He leans forward, tries to convey _it’s okay, I’m here to listen_. “Did something happen?”

Dean glances over and visibly balks, apparently getting the message loud and clear and wanting nothing to do with it. “Dude, I’m fine,” he says. “Chill out, why don’t you?”

At that, Sam can only look pointedly to where Dean’s been bouncing his foot from some unknown agitation for at _least_ the past half hour, shaking his crossed ankles and likely the entire crappy motel bed with it.

The bouncing stops with a noise of disgust and Dean levers himself off the bed, stalking over to the mini fridge to snag his fifth beer of the night. He passes Sam with a grumbled, “Whatever,” before settling back in to pretend to watch some shitty episode of _Boston Legal_ , stubbornly ignoring the remote – and phone – beside him.

Sam sighs.

Well, he tried.

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

_09:03 AM  12/08/07  
I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your messages last night._

09:07 AM  12/08/07  
Nah, man…

09:08 AM  12/08/07  
I shouldn’t have blown up your phone like that, I guess.

_09:10 AM  12/08/07  
You weren’t a bother, Dean._

_09:11 AM  12/08/07  
In fact, coming home and reading your texts lifted my spirits a bit._

09:12 AM  12/08/07  
Oh.

09:12 AM  12/08/07  
So…bad date?

_09:16 AM  12/08/07  
Dean. I have something to say, but…_

_09:17 AM  12/08/07  
I’m afraid._

09:17 AM  12/08/07  
Shit, Cas, what? What’s going on?

_09:18 AM  12/08/07  
It’s…personal, I suppose._

_09:22 AM  12/08/07  
The date last night made me realize something. Or maybe it simply pushed me into acknowledging what I already knew._

_09:25 AM  12/08/07  
You are very important to me, Dean. More than you probably know, and I feel I need to be honest with you. With myself._

_09:27 AM  12/08/07  
Please, can I call? I need to say this to you without filters._

09:30 AM  12/08/07  
Okay.

09:30 AM  12/08/07  
Okay, yeah. You can call.

```

09:31 AM  12/08/07

Incoming call

“Um…hey.”

“Dean.”

“What are you saying, man? I don’t…”

“This…relationship we have, this bond we share, I’ve realized this is all I want, it’s all I _need_ to be…”

“Oh, fuck, Cas.”

“I’m _happy_ , Dean. You make me happy. I don’t want to date. I don’t want anyone but you.”

“Jesus, _Cas._ ”

“Please. Please know that I don’t expect anything from you, don’t expect anything to come from me telling you this. I would never try to push you into something you don’t want or aren’t ready for but I— I wanted you to know.”

“You… No fuckin’ way, you don’t know what you’re—”

“ _No._  You don’t get to tell me what I know, what I feel. You are my best friend. My most important person. You are _everything_ to me.”

“What do I, what…?”

“Just hear me, please. _Believe_ me when I say I’m happy with our friendship exactly as it is, but I would have you, all of you, if only you’d let me. If you’d want me in return.”

“I, I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or don’t?”

“I _can’t._ ”

“…”

“…”

“I love you, Dean. I don’t need anything more than that.”

“No. No, you…”

“Yes, I do. And we’ll never speak of it again, if that’s what you want, but I needed to say the words. I’m glad I did.”

“I can’t. Fuck, I— Cas, I can’t.”

“…I understand.”

09:39 AM  12/08/07

Call ended

```

_09:45 AM  12/08/07  
Take all the time you need._

 

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

06:51 PM  12/10/07  
We’ve never even met.

_06:53 PM  12/10/07  
Utterly irrelevant._

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_12:27 PM  12/11/07  
We could, though._

_12:44 PM  12/11/07  
Meet._

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

_01:06 AM  12/14/07  
I’m sorry._

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

_“I love you, Dean.”_

Dean presses his face deep into his pillow, Cas’s words spinning out in his mind on an infinite loop. Words that Cas had thought out and made a conscious decision to share; words spoken with sincere, open emotion; _impossible_ words that make no goddamn sense and dig into Dean with every thought, scoop him hollow and leave him raw and hurt and so fucking empty because Dean’s tried, tried so damn hard to be okay, to accept what’s coming and stay strong for Sam but now he knows this is it, this is the thing that breaks him. Or at the very least leaves him sleepless and stupid, because here he is again, a seventh night in a row restless, missing Cas like air (and how fucked up is that, what is he _doing_ ) and endlessly unsure because Cas doesn’t deserve this, no one does.

_“I would have you. All of you.”_

Dean’s hips hitch into the mattress on an aborted roll, breath catching on the exhale in something dangerously close to a whimper, but now’s definitely not the time to be thinking about _that_ , not with Sam snoring less than ten feet away and while he still has a decision to make and besides, there’s lots of ways the guy could’ve meant it, really. Dean slips a hand up and under his pillow, fingers brushing past the hilt of Ruby’s knife to grip his cell. He pulls it out and, ignoring the accusing  _1:54 AM_ lighting up the screen, thumbs open his messages. He holds the phone low and close, containing its glow as best he can in the soft and warm spaces between his body and the covers as he navigates to his saved text drafts.

 _“I’m_ happy _, Dean. You make me happy.”_

Dean stares and stares at the message he wants, doesn’t want, needs to send. The same message he’d typed out in the initial crippling wave of grief and guilt a full week before. His thumb hovers lightly over the bright green ‘send.’

 _I'm dying_ , it says, a simple truth and answer to all Cas wants, all Cas needs to know. The immediate end to the only real and honest friendship Dean’s ever built and wanted and _kept_ , something right he’d done all for himself.

_“I love you. I love you.”_

Dean deletes the draft.

 

``````

**Sunday**

**``````**

 

10:32 AM  12/16/07  
So…what, you’re taking it back?

_10:36 AM  12/16/07  
Don’t be intentionally obtuse. I’m sorry I pushed in asking to meet. Not for what I said._

_10:38 AM  12/16/07  
Is that what you want? For me to take it back? For us to pretend I never admitted my feelings for you?_

10:40 AM  12/16/07  
No.

_10:41 AM  12/16/07  
Then what do you want, Dean?_

10:42 AM  12/16/07  
What do YOU want?

10:43 AM  12/16/07  
We can’t meet. We just can’t.

_10:44 AM  12/16/07  
If that’s how you think it needs to be._

10:46 AM  12/16/07  
It is. So what is this? Where do we go from here?

10:46 AM  12/16/07  
I didn’t even know you were into dudes!

_10:47 AM  12/16/07  
I am. Does that bother you?_

_10:47 AM  12/16/07  
Have you ever been with a man before?_

10:48 AM  12/16/07  
Oh, yeah, sure. Do johns count?

_10:51 AM  12/16/07  
What…? _

10:52 AM  12/16/07  
Fuck, I don’t know why I said that.

_10:52 AM  12/16/07  
You tell me you sell yourself for sex and you think that I’ll, what? Stop loving you? Forget I ever did?_

10:52 AM  12/16/07  
I had to. For Sam.

_10:54 AM  12/16/07  
I would never judge you. Not for that._

10:56 AM  12/16/07  
I’m a goddamn mess.

_10:59 AM  12/16/07  
No, Dean. You are a good and honorable man, a man who’s given all he has to both better the world and care for the ones you love.  _

_11:00 AM  12/16/07  
I told you I love you and that is the truth, no matter your past. Telling you was something I felt I needed to do; it would have been dishonest not to. _

_11:02 AM  12/16/07  
But I realize now that may have been…selfish of me, to put you in this position._

_11:02 AM  12/16/07  
I’ve scared you, I think. I’m sorry for that._

11:03 AM  12/16/07  
Don’t be sorry. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.

11:03 AM  12/16/07  
You’re right, I’m handling this like shit.

11:04 AM  12/16/07  
I just, I can’t fuck this up. It’s too big.

_11:05 AM  12/16/07  
I miss you._

11:06 AM  12/16/07  
Shit, Cas. Me, too.

_11:08 AM  12/16/07  
I can and will move on from this, my feelings. If that’s what you truly want._

11:08 AM  12/16/07  
Yeah, well, I want a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I get to have them.

_11:09 AM  12/16/07  
You have me, Dean. You do._

11:11 AM 12/16/07  
Look, I…

11:11 AM  12/16/07  
I know I was the one running away, here, but…

11:11 AM  12/16/07  
We’re okay?

_11:12 AM  12/16/07  
Yes. Yes, of course._

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

07:25 AM  12/25/07  
Morning, sunshine!

07:27 AM  12/25/07  
Hey Cas.

07:28 AM  12/25/07  
Cas.

07:28 AM  12/25/07  
Cas.

07:28 AM  12/25/07  
Cas.

07:29 AM  12/25/07  
HEY CAS.

_07:31 AM  12/25/07  
I am on BREAK, Dean. WHY are you texting me at this ungodly hour?_

07:32 AM  12/25/07  
Merry Christmas, Cas.

_07:33 AM  12/25/07  
…_

_07:33 AM  12/25/07  
Merry Christmas, Dean._

 

`````

**Wednesday**

``````

 

09:07 PM  01/02/08  
So then we find out Dr. Piccolo has ANOTHER half sister, right?

09:07 PM  01/02/08  
And this chick, Dr. Hart, is this super hot cardiovascular badass who’s like, totally trying to poach Dr. Sexy.  

09:08 PM  01/02/08  
The bitch fit when Piccolo caught them macking in the supply closet was EPIC.

_09:08 PM  01/02/08  
I still don’t understand the cowboy boots._

09:09 PM  01/02/08  
I told you!! The boots are what make Dr. Sexy sexy!

_09:10 PM  01/02/08  
They seem terribly impractical._

09:11 PM  01/02/08  
Ugh, whatever. You’re hopeless.

09:13 PM  01/02/08  
You should try on a pair sometime. Trust me, your students would fuckin’ love it.

_09:14 PM  01/02/08  
I’m not that kind of doctor, Dean._

09:14 PM  01/02/08  
Aw, c’mon!

_09:14 PM  01/02/08  
Though, if I were, I certainly wouldn’t object to having you on my examination table._

09:16 PM 01/02/08  
Psh.

09:16 PM  01/02/08  
Bet you wouldn’t know what to do with me if you did.

_09:17 PM  01/02/08  
Oh?_

```

09:18 PM  01/02/08

Incoming call

“Uh, hey, Cas. What’s crackin’?”

“I want to talk about sex.”

“You—”  

“…Dean? Hello?”

_“Dude, you okay?”_

_“Yes, fuck, son of a bitch, fuckin’ table leg.”_

_“Is that Cas?”_

_“Yeah, I, I’m gonna— Goin’ for a drive.”_

_“Hi, Cas!”_

“What the _hell,_ man! Sam was in the room!”

“My apologies. Tell him I say hello as well.”

“Wha— No! You wanna _what?_ ”

“Talk about sex.”

“I fuckin’ heard you the first time!”

“Then why did you—”

“I meant _why!_ ”

“Oh. I would like to know your feelings on having sex. With me.”

“…What?”

“I realize we left many things unresolved when last we spoke of my affections, but given what you’ve told me of your history with men—”

_“What?”_

“—I would like to make it clear that, while I do find you very sexually attractive—”

“ _Cas,_ seriously—”

“—I’d completely understand if my flirtations are unwelcome. But I must know.”

“…Wow. _Wow._ Did you rehearse all that?”

“…”

“…”

“Only a little.”

“Wow. Okay, so. One: I haven't been hooking in years, that's… It’s in the past. I did what I had to do to feed the kid but I'm not— I'm not _broken._ ”

“Dean, god, no. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to imply—”

“And two! You don't flirt with a dude you're interested in then call him to _talk about it!_ If I didn't like it I'd let you fuckin’ know!”

“…”

“…”

“Are you really driving?”

“What? No, I’m just…sitting parked, I guess.”

“You’ve stopped telling me of the women you seduce.”

“Jesus Christ, Cas, nobody says _seduce,_ what the f—”

“Have you stopped? Bringing home women?”

“I— We— We’ve been busy!”

“You go out as frequently as ever, you tell me when you do. So, why have you stopped?”

“…”

“…”

“You know why.”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“…”

“I want you, Dean. Do you want me?”

“…Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I would very much like to hear you come.”

“Cas, _fuck._ ”

“…”

“…”

“You’re hard.”

“Fuck you, of course I’m fuckin’ hard.”

“I am, too. But we won’t, not today.”

“Wh— _Why?_ ”

“I want you to think about it. I want you to ask me for it.”

“I— God, Cas, c’mon, I…”

“It’s alright. I can wait.”

“That’s a— That’s playin’ dirty, man.”

“Perhaps. But…something tells me you might just enjoy it.”

“…”

“Have a nice night, Dean.”

09:34 PM  01/02/08

Call ended

```

_09:36 PM  01/02/08  
For the record, I’d know exactly what to do with you._

```

Dean steals back into the room some time later, trying and very much failing not to feel all of sixteen, sneaking in past a passed-out John and Sam’s knowing looks.

As it turns out, John may be dead, but Sam really hasn’t changed as much as he’d like to think he has.

From the table by the door, Sam drops his gaze pointedly to Dean’s boots, lined up neatly at the foot of his bed. Laughing eyes drag slowly back to Dean.

“Forget something?”

```

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

 

They’re on the road, putting some distance between them and the latest salt’n’burn – a lakehouse poltergeist just north of Sheboygan – when Sam says, “Y’know, we’re only a couple hours from Chicago,” light and deliberately casual, like they haven’t been passing glaring green ‘Chicago 140/112/96’ mileage signs for the past hour. As if they hadn’t come within spitting distance of the city on the way up. Something in Dean clenches tight.

“How about we go see Cas?” Sam continues, “It’d be cool to actually meet the guy. I mean, we’ve only been talking to him for, like, a _year_.” Uncomfortable silence falls with Dean’s utter lack of response, but Sam powers through with a slightly strained, “Uh, yeah, so just exit on the I-94 and we can—”

“Yeah, no,” Dean cuts in, voice rough, scraping at his throat. “That ain’t happening.”

“But _why?_ ” bursts Sam, over-loud and wow, the amount it took to get him from zero to pissed was impressive even for Dean. “He’s my friend too, you know!” Sam twists in his seat to turn imploring eyes on Dean. “It’s _Cas._ ”

“Who’s to say he’d even want to see us, huh?” Dean counters, “You think about that?”     

“Uh, I dunno, we could _ask,_ ” says Sam, tone dripping sarcasm. “Does he even know we’re in the area, or were you hiding that from him, too?”

Dean clenches his jaw; his silence answer enough. Sam throws up his hands in frustration and, because he’s a stubborn _bitch_ , says, “I know you care, Dean, so stop pretending you don’t! I’m so tired of you punishing yourself for no reason, I don’t understand why you can’t just—”    

Dean slams a hand to the steering wheel. “Because I’m dead, Sam!” and Sam’s face goes carefully blank in the way that means he’s internalizing his furious denial of the inevitable. “I’ve got _months,_ ” Dean says. “Four months, then I’m gone. I should’ve never—” he swallows hard, and can only hope the dark of the late hour conceals his white-knuckled grip on the wheel. “I should’ve stepped back as soon as the deal was made, should’ve never dragged Cas in.”

Sam makes a protesting noise from beside him but Dean keeps his eyes on the road, not needing to look to see the broken-open, pitying sadness Sam’s directing his way.

“Damn right, I care.” Dean says, losing steam. “I care enough not to bring that shit to his door. I owe him that much, at least.”

Sam, miraculously, says nothing. He instead opts to make his feelings abundantly clear by hunkering down in his seat, arms crossed and pretending to settle in for sleep while really just huffing and puffing his way into a proper sulk. Dean elects to forget the original plan of heading to Bobby’s and keeps them decisively pointed west, resolutely ignoring the heaviness in his chest.

Right. Good talk.

 

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

09:43 AM  01/21/08  
Have I ever told you how much I HATE witches?

_09:44 AM  01/21/08  
You may’ve mentioned it._

_09:44 AM  01/21/08  
Once or twice._

09:45 AM  01/21/08  
Seriously, man. SO skeevy.

09:48 AM  01/21/08  
So, long story short, it looks like our town resident Glenn Close pulled a little witchy weirdness to off her lover’s wife before really going off the rails to kill lover boy then herself.

_09:49 AM  01/21/08  
A murder-murder-suicide, then._

09:50 AM  01/21/08  
Great way to start the week, right?

_09:50 AM  01/21/08  
No doubt._

09:51 AM  01/21/08  
But, yeah, that’s what it LOOKS like, though Sam and I aren’t so sure there’s not a little witch-on-witch violence going on.

_09:52 AM  01/21/08  
You suspect there’s more than one witch in the area?_

09:54 AM  01/21/08  
Something’s definitely hokey. We’re thinking we might be dealing with a coven.

_09:54 AM  01/21/08  
A coven? Interesting._

09:55 AM  01/21/08  
Uh, no, I think the word you’re looking for is ‘gross.’

09:57 AM  01/21/08  
By the way, we found the bitch’s grimoire. Do you think you could take a look?

_09:58 AM  01/21/08  
Of course. What am I looking for?_

10:01 AM  01/21/08  
I dunno, man. It’s all greek to me, but it looks like mostly spells. We just want to make sure there’s nothing too damaging in there that these people might’ve gotten their hands on.

_10:02 AM  01/21/08  
I’ll see what I can do._

10:03 AM  01/21/08  
Thanks, Cas. Sam’s emailing you the scans now.

_10:03 AM  01/21/08  
You know I’m always happy to help._

10:05 AM  01/21/08  
I know, buddy.

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

_(“There’s no way of saving me from the Pit, is there?”_

_Ruby sighs, says simply, “No.”)_

```

_02:36 AM  01/22/08_

_Incoming call_

“…Dean?”

“…Hey, Cas.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s, uh, ‘s late. ‘M sorry.”

“…Have you been drinking?”

“Jus’ a lil’. ‘M sorry, Cas.”

“Why are you sorry? I’m here when you need to talk, Dean, you know that.”

“N-Nothin’ to talk about, man.”

“…”

“I-It’s all, it’s. Jus’ needed t-to, to call, you, I—”

“You’re crying.”

“Jus’ a— Jus’ a lil’.”

“Dean…”

“…”

“Where are you? Should I call Sam? Are you safe?”

“‘M okay. In Baby.”

“You will _not_ —”

“Jeez, no! ‘M at the motel. Jus’, parked. I’ll…go in, in a bit.

“…”

“…”

“I was dreaming of a beach, I think. The sand and surf silver-white under the light of the moon. I sat at the shore to feel the pull of the tide. You stood at my side, complaining the water was cold.”

“…”

“It was a nice dream.”

“You’re so fuckin’ sappy, Cas.”

“When it comes to you, yes. I do believe I am.”

“…Y’know ’m pretty fucked up, right?”

“Yes, I know.”

“Y’know I’m, ‘m no good for you.”

“That’s something for me to decide for myself, not you.”

“‘M gonna hurt you. I will.”

“Maybe that’s true. I don’t care.”

“Y-You, y’know I love you too, right?”

“…”

“Oh, god, Cas, I— I do, m-more t-than I’ve ever— Anyone, _anything_ , but I can’t, it’s so fucked, I _can’t_ —”

“You can, Dean. You’re allowed, you can.”

“I do. Christ, I do.”

“I’m here, always. I promise.”

“…Fuck, that’s a stupid thing to promise.”

“Yes. I’ll make it anyway.”

“…”

“…”

“‘M jus’ so tired, Cas.”

“I know. Go inside, sleep.”

“Yeah…”

“Inside, Dean.”

“Yeah, okay. I…”

“…”

“Thanks.”

“…Sleep, Dean. I’ll speak with you in the morning. I love you.”

“…Y-Yeah. ‘Night, Cas.”

_02:50 AM  01/22/08_

_Call ended_

```

_11:34 AM  01/22/08  
Did you mean it?_

01:12 PM  01/22/08  
Yeah.

01:12 PM  01/22/08  
I meant it.

_01:17 PM  01/22/08  
Thank you for saying it._

_01:18 PM  01/22/08  
I hope today is a better day._

_01:18 PM  01/22/08  
I love you._

_01:18 PM  01/22/08  
I don’t like to see you hurt._

01:20 PM  01/22/08  
Today’s a better day, Cas.

01:20 PM  01/22/08  
As for tomorrow, I’ll have to let you know.

 

``````

**Saturday**

``````

 

_06:47 PM  01/26/08  
Silene capensis. African dream root._

06:47 PM  01/26/08  
You know it?

_06:48 PM  01/26/08  
I do. It’s a psychostimulant commonly used in a number of tribal spirituality rituals._

06:49 PM  01/26/08  
We’ve gone full Nightmare on Elm over here! If Bobby or I fall asleep before we find Jeremy, we’re fucked.

06:51 PM  01/26/08  
Can’t believe I let the kid dose me. So fucking stupid.

_06:51 PM  01/26/08  
You couldn’t have known._

06:52 PM  01/26/08  
Bullshit, it’s my job to know!

_06:55 PM  01/26/08  
You’ll find him, Dean._

06:57 PM  01/26/08  
Fuck. Sorry, I just…

06:59 PM  01/26/08  
He pulled Bobby down to live out his worst nightmares. I don’t even want to think of what he’d find digging around in my head.

_07:00 PM  01/26/08  
An understandable fear._

_07:01 PM  01/26/08  
My own experiences with recurring nightmares are…highly unpleasant, to say the least.  _

07:01 PM  01/26/08  
You have nightmares?

_07:01 PM  01/26/08  
Yes._

_07:03 PM  01/26/08  
My consciousness abandoned without shape or form in a sea of shifting space. Lights that burn to look upon, impossible shapes, colors that don’t exist. Whispers in a language I feel I know but cannot understand._

_07:04 PM  01/26/08  
It’s beautiful, in a way. And through it all I am endlessly, terrifically afraid. _

07:05 PM  01/26/08  
Dude.

07:05 PM  01/26/08  
Cas, that’s…

07:05 PM  01/26/08  
Not gonna lie, that’s weird as fuck.

_07:06 PM  01/26/08  
The depths of your compassion astounds._

07:06 PM  01/26/08  
No, seriously, you been smoking the good stuff again??

_07:06 PM  01/26/08  
You’re ridiculous._

07:07 PM  01/26/08  
You got it from the weird beard dude in the Anthro dept, didn’t you?

07:07 PM  01/26/08  
Come on, you can tell me!

_07:08 PM  01/26/08  
I should’ve known those stories of my college days would come back to haunt me._

 

``````

**Monday (and Tuesday)**

``````

 

One moment Dean is running through the woods, sights set on Sam ahead, and in the next he’s standing alone in a long, narrow hallway, the walls colored green and dark in a camouflage impression of the forest he’d just stumbled in from.

Dean blinks away his confusion. “What in the hell…?”

There are doors along either side of the hall, evenly spaced and endless. Or maybe not, Dean thinks, stepping a few feet further into the dream. There’s something unreal about the space, distorted and out of focus to the point where Dean both can and can’t perceive the end of the hall. Whatever this place is, though, he needs _out._ He can’t leave Sam to find Jeremy alone.

He opens a door at random and is instantly rooted to the ground, breath caught in his throat. Dean doesn’t know what he was expecting, after Bobby, after what Jeremy told Sam, but…

Not this. Never this.

The door has opened into a child’s bedroom. Inside, Mary Winchester sits in a well-loved rocking chair, golden and beautiful in the soft glow of the reading lamp at her side. She’s heavily pregnant and a boy, no more than four, sits curled and content in her lap; tucked to her side and head resting to her chest, his sleepy eyes on the wide and colorfully illustrated book Mary holds before him.

“In the great green room,” Mary says softly, soothing and calm. “There was a telephone.”

“And a red balloon,” the boy murmurs.

Mary smiles, prompts, “And a picture of…”

“The cow jumping over the moon!” the boy says, perking up slightly. Mary laughs, then sucks in a short breath as she drops a hand to her belly, rubbing circles. The Dean in her lap sits up excitedly. “Is the baby kicking, mommy?”

Dean, from the door, swallows hard. He swipes at his eyes, just the once, and – with a final glance at the shade of the mother he loved – shuts the door, gentle and slow.

Dean turns and continues down the hall, cautiously opening doors as he goes. A young boy and a man in a cap and flannel tossing a ball back and forth in an open field. A wide, white farmhouse porch, acoustic guitar waiting propped against the railing and porch swing swaying slightly in the breeze. A sun-warm pier that stretches out over a picturesque lake. Dreams, all of them, compartmentalized and on display like some fucked-up funhouse of memories and wishes.

Dean walks on, no idea if he’s getting any closer to the exit of this place but needing to do _something_. He opens the next door and sees what looks like the entryway to an apartment but, unlike the other dreams, this isn’t a place he immediately recognizes. It’s warm, and quiet, with nondescript cream walls and small, colorful art prints lining the hall.

“Dean?” he hears from further in the apartment, a response to the opening of the door and a voice Dean knows, close and dear.

Cas, _Cas,_ rounds the corner, smiling wide; rumpled and stupidly gorgeous in Dean’s own Blue Öyster Cult tee, bare feet peeking out from under a pair of worn, slightly too-long jeans.

“You’re home,” Cas says, warm and obviously pleased as he steps towards Dean, grabbing at his hand to pull him further into the apartment. The door swings softly shut behind him. “How was the hunt?”

Dean stares, caught on the impossible blue of the man’s eyes, the cleft of his chin, the curve of his lips Dean’s only ever seen in pictures before. “The hunt?”

Cas rolls his eyes, though the fondness remains. “The grave desecrations. Was it a ghoul?” He moves further into Dean’s space, close and familiar, to brush a kiss at Dean’s jaw, tilts his chin to say, “I missed you, Dean,” warm at Dean’s ear.

Dean jerks back and away but doesn’t let go of Cas’s hand, weak and needy in spite of everything. Cas’s brow furrows and Dean knows he’s fucked up in the game his mind is playing, wide-eyed and wrong as far as Cas is concerned but it’s not real, it’s not.

“I— No, I—” Dean stammers, finally drawing out of Cas’s grip to clutch at the doorframe behind him, groping for the knob.

“Dean?” Cas says, low and rough and perfect, hand still outstretched in an impossible invitation to stay.

“I have to go,” Dean says, voice cracking under the weight of something that feels remarkably like heartbreak. “I have to…”

The door opens under Dean’s hand and he stumbles back, reentering the blank hallway and shutting the door tight on Cas’s troubled features.

“I have to go,” Dean repeats, to no one but himself.

 

``````

**Friday**

``````

_08:56 PM  02/01/08_

_Incoming call_

“Hello, Dean.”

“Ah, Cas…”

“Dean? Are you alright?”

“I’m…hah, fuckin’ peachy. You said— Shit, Cas, you said you wanted to hear, right? You wanna listen?”

“Oh…oh, Dean.”

“Ah, fuck, Cas, wait— _Listen._ ”

“Oh, you’re close, aren’t you?”

“Ngh, yeah. Yeah, I’m…”

“You started without me, Dean.”

“Jesus, fuck, shut up shut up _shut up._ ”

“Next time, you’ll call me first.”

“Shit. _Shit,_ ah—”

“I’m here. I’m here, Dean. Come for me. Let me hear you, I want to—”

 _“Mnn_ — Cas, I’m, _fuck_ — _!_ "

“Oh, gorgeous. So beautiful.”

“Ah…hah, ah…shit…”

“Beautiful.”

“I, ah— Fuck, don’t— You can’t say things like that!”

“Why not? It was. You are.”

“Shit, I— I gotta go. I just, fuckin’ embarrassing, I gotta—”

“Shh, Dean. Whatever you need. May I text you?”

“I…yeah. Yeah, Cas.”

“Alright.”

_09:01 PM  02/01/08_

_Call ended_

```

_09:02 PM  02/01/08  
Your voice is a song._

_09:02 PM  02/01/08  
Thank you._

09:03 PM  02/01/08  
Aw, hell, don’t be so…

09:03 PM  02/01/08  
It was just, I wanted…

09:03 PM  02/01/08  
Fuck, I don’t know! Just, no big deal, okay?

_09:04 PM  02/01/08  
I want to touch myself._

_09:04 PM  02/01/08  
And think of you while I do._

_09:05 PM  02/01/08  
May I?_

09:06 PM  02/01/08  
You’re really gonna make me say it?

_09:06 PM  02/01/08  
Consent is important._

_09:06 PM  02/01/08  
Yes._

_09:06 PM  02/01/08  
Say it._

09:07 PM  02/01/08  
Fuck, Cas.

09:08 PM  02/01/08  
I want you to touch yourself.

09:08 PM  02/01/08  
And think of me when you do.

_09:09 PM  02/01/08  
Yes, Dean._

09:11 PM  02/01/08  
Are you doing it?

_09:11 PM  02/01/08  
Yes._

09:11 PM  02/01/08  
Is it good?

_09:12 PM  02/01/08  
Yes._

09:13 PM  02/01/08  
What do you need?

_09:13 PM  02/01/08  
You._

_09:13 PM  02/01/08  
You, always you._

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

08:22 AM  02/05/08  
Dude.

08:22 AM  02/05/08  
Tuesday special: Pig ‘n a Poke!

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

03:13 PM  02/05/08  
This Mystery Spot is cheesier than you, Cas!

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

08:48 AM  02/05/08  
Uh…I think Sam’s got a screw knocked loose.

08:50 AM  02/05/08  
You ever watch Groundhog Day?

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

**07:37 AM  02/05/08  
Cas, whatever you’re doing today, I need you to drop everything and look into something.**

**07:37 AM  02/05/08  
This is life or death: I need ANYTHING you can dig up on time loops. **

**07:38 AM  02/05/08  
NOW.**

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

11:09 PM  02/05/08

Outgoing call

_\- “I…um, yes, hello. This is the phone of Castiel Novak. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to the…phone…at this time. Please…leave a message. Yes, that seems pertinent. Please leave a message.” -_

“Jesus _Christ_ , Cas, get a shorter voicemail! Look, we’re in a tight spot. Sam has LOST HIS GODDAMN MIND—”

 _“NO! There has GOT to be something going on here, I—” _

_“This is not how we DO things, Sam!”_

“—and at this rate he’s gonna get us _fucking_ _arrested_ , you hear me? Just, listen, we’re in Florida, okay? Broward County. If we get picked up—”

_ “I’ll burn it to the ground if I have to!” _

“Oh, son of a bitch, hold on—”

_ “Sammy, that’s enough! Give me the ax! _

_“Leave it, Dean!”_

_“No, come on—”_

_“Seriously, let GO—”_

** _thwak!_ **

_“…Oh, no.”_

11:11 PM  02/05/08

Call ended

 

``````

**Tuesday**

``````

 

07:34 AM  02/05/08  
Tell Sammy he has shitty taste in music.

07:35 AM  02/05/08  
Seriously, who doesn’t like Asia?

 

``````

**Wednesday**

``````

 

_06:07 PM  02/06/08  
A trickster god, truly?_

06:08 PM  02/06/08  
Yep, and it was the same douche we tangoed with in Springfield. We thought we’d killed him, but he’s obviously more slippery than we thought.

_06:10 PM  02/06/08  
What happened in Springfield?_

06:10 PM  02/06/08  
Ugh, dude. WEIRD shit.

06:11 PM  02/06/08  
There was a sewer gator. And space rape.

06:11 PM  02/06/08  
You really don’t wanna know.

_06:12 PM  02/06/08  
No, you may be right on that._

_06:14 PM  02/06/08  
But still, it’s fascinating; to think of these gods of lore as actual living, killable creatures…_

_06:14 PM  02/06/08  
Fascinating._

06:15 PM  02/06/08  
Wow, Cas, creepy Dr. Lecter much?

_06:15 PM  02/06/08  
I don’t understand that reference._

06:16 PM  02/06/08  
But, seriously, he’d better stay gone if he knows what’s good for him. He really put Sam through the wringer.

06:16 PM  02/06/08  
HOW. HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT REFERENCE?

_06:17 PM  02/06/08  
…_

06:18 PM  02/06/08  
Oh my god, you’re such a fuck. I actually believed you!

06:18 PM  02/06/08  
Gonna give me a freakin’ heart attack.

_06:19 PM  02/06/08  
You really do make it too easy._

06:20 PM  02/06/08  
Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.

_06:21 PM  02/06/08  
It’s odd, though._

_06:22 PM  02/06/08  
The manipulation of matter and energy are common and widely documented godly powers._

_06:22 PM  02/06/08  
But from what you’ve said, this Trickster created a literal pocket reality to trap you in…_

_06:24 PM  02/06/08  
To my knowledge, that sort of control over time and space is virtually unheard of. It’s practically science fiction._

06:26 PM  02/06/08  
Well, you’re not wrong. This dude definitely has more tricks up his sleeve than anything we’ve ever seen before.

06:27 PM  02/06/08  
Heh. Tricks.

_06:27 PM  02/06/08  
There are precious few entities that may possess power so absolute. _

06:27 PM  02/06/08  
Get it? Trickster?

_06:28 PM  02/06/08  
… _

_06:28 PM  02/06/08  
Yes, Dean. _

06:28 PM  02/06/08  
Psh. Spoilsport.

_06:29 PM  02/06/08  
As you said, let’s just hope this was the last of your encounters with this being._

06:30 PM  02/06/08  
Hell, yes. I’ll drink to that.

 

``````

**Sunday**

``````

 

_09:08 AM  02/17/08  
Turn on the news._

_09:08 AM  02/17/08  
Dean, I’m so sorry._

```

They see the news, and not five minutes later Ruby shows up to basically rip them a new one. Dean doesn’t want to hear it, leaves Sam to herd Ruby outside in favor of sitting on his shitty motel bed, with it’s shitty cowboy patterned comforter, head-in-hands, punishing himself further with the continued murmur of the local coverage of the morning’s events.

_“…tragic accident…massive explosion…authorities believe…”_

Dean can hear Sam and Ruby speaking heatedly outside the room ( _“Lilith is_ not _messing around, Sam!”_ ), muffled through the door, but there’s a reason Dean prefers the bed closest to the window. ( _“What do you want from us? We did the best we could!”_ )

_“…among the deceased, at least six police officers and staff…”_

_Wrong,_ Dean thinks, sharp as a knife to the chest. He thinks of The Roadhouse. Of Wyoming. Losing the Colt to Bela. His increasingly frequent nightmares of what’s coming for him in Hell and his eventual demon self. _Sam, you’re wrong._

_“Melvin Dodd…Phil Amici…Nancy Fitzgerald…Calvin Reidy…Victor Henriksen…”_

Dean cuts off the TV and Sam re-enters the room, alone, just in time to witness Dean violently chuck the remote at the wall. Sam stares wordlessly at the shattered pieces of black plastic on the floor, carefully clicks the door shut behind him.

“Dean—”

“Don’t,” Dean snaps, “just don’t.”

Sam shuffles forward to hover at the main room entryway. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean chokes on a humorless laugh. “Figure out what, exactly?” Sam says nothing, and Dean stands to restlessly pace the short spaces between the beds. “If we believe Ruby, this Lilith chick is coming for you, _you_ specifically, and we have no idea why, or who she even is! We’re no closer to finding the Colt than we were a goddamn month ago, and we still have _no_ leads on the deal.”

“Ruby said—”

“Fuck what Ruby said, Sam!” Dean stops his steps, passes a shaky hand over his eyes, his mouth. “I just, I’m not seeing a win, here.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam says unsteadily, looking a bit spooked himself. “You have to— You have to _fight,_ Dean. We still have time, and Cas and I are so close to figuring it out, I swear, there’s crossroads lore and soul magic we haven’t even—” and he falls into abrupt silence as he catches sight of Dean’s face. The sick look of fearful shock he must see there. Dean can practically see Sam run through his last words, and his expression goes distinctly hunted.

“What?” Dean asks, barely audible past the blood roaring at his ears.  

“It’s not what you think,” Sam rushes to say, extending a hand in a spectacularly unhelpful pacifying gesture, two steps and a sudden tingling numbness in Dean’s fingers and toes the only thing saving him from a punch to the face. “I didn’t tell him, I swear. He’s just been— He thinks it’s research, for all the general demon shit, and you know he could help and he _has_ —”

“That ‘demon shit,’” Dean cuts through, low and dangerously flat, pauses to point an accusing finger at the dark blank screen of the tube TV, “just got a dozen people killed. Innocent people we were supposed to _protect,_ innocent people who died just because they were unlucky enough to be anywhere _near_ us.”

Sam drops his eyes, gaze skittering uneasily around the room, trapped. “I know,” he says, careful. “I know, and it’s awful. But it’s— That’s the life, Dean, you know it’s always gonna be dangerou—”

Dean slams a hand to one of the cheap metal bed frames: the loud, hollow rattle echoing Dean’s rage, the hard, shaking anger he feels down to his bones. “ _Not Cas,_ ” Dean shouts, trembling hands curling to fists. “God _damn_ it, not Cas, I told you, I fucking—” and Dean’s chest is too tight, breaths hitching in his throat, air caught with nowhere to go and he can’t, fuck, he can’t _breathe_ “—I _told_ you. It’s not his fight, fuck, Sam, it’s _not his life._ ” And suddenly there’s Sam, right in front of him, hands clutching at Dean’s shoulders, and as soon as Dean registers the support he tries to break away at the same moment his legs decide to give. Sam keeps his grip, guides him down to sit on the bed. He’s calling Dean’s name, eyes wide and words tight with something that seems a lot like fear.

 _Good,_ Dean thinks distantly, _be scared._

Dean jerks his shoulders to shake Sam’s hold, and this time Sam lets him. Dean ignores the hovering and stares blankly to the floor, focuses on relearning to breathe. He waits until his vision stops swimming, says, “He can’t die,” voice pitifully small, the confession burning like bile. “I’m gonna get him killed, I’m gonna—” Dean turns pleading eyes up to his brother, knowing – _you’ve always known_ – what comes next but fuck, it hurts, how can anything hurt like this. “I can’t do it, Sammy. He— I can’t.”

Sam blinks hard, swallows back his words and sighs, leaden and threaded with defeat. He drops heavily to the bed opposite Dean, their knees knocking in-between.

“Okay,” he says, muffled through the hand he scrubs at his mouth. “Yeah. I know.”

 

``````

**Monday**

``````

 

04:24 PM  02/18/08  
Hey.

_04:27 PM  02/18/08  
Hello, Dean._

_04:53 PM  02/18/08  
Hello?_

04:58 PM  02/18/08  
Yeah. Hey, Cas.

05:00 PM  02/18/08  
If I really needed you to do something for me, would you?

05:00 PM  02/18/08  
Something important?

_05:01 PM  02/18/08  
I’ve never said no to you before._

05:02 PM  02/18/08  
Will you promise?

_05:02 PM  02/18/08  
How can I promise if I don’t know the task?_

_05:07 PM  02/18/08  
Dean? You’re worrying me._

05:09 PM  02/18/08  
Sam and I are ditching these numbers. I need you to not look for me.

_05:10 PM  02/18/08  
Until…?_

05:11 PM  02/18/08  
You’re not gonna hear from me again.

_05:11 PM  02/18/08  
What??_

_05:12 PM  02/18/08  
What’s happening? Are you in danger?_

_05:12 PM  02/18/08  
What happened yesterday morning? What was it, really?_

_05:14 PM  02/18/08  
Did something happen with Sam? Are you okay?_

_05:16 PM  02/18/08  
God damn it, Dean. Answer your phone!_

05:17 PM  02/18/08  
Please, Cas. I need you to promise me.

_05:18 PM  02/18/08  
I will NOT._

_05:18 PM  02/18/08  
Tell me what’s going on!_

05:20 PM  02/18/08  
Can’t. Won’t.

05:21 PM  02/18/08  
You’re gonna be fine, okay? And I’m gonna be fine. But this is what’s best.

05:22 PM  02/18/08  
Please. I’m begging, here. You gotta let me go.

05:22 PM  02/18/08  
You just gotta get on without me. You’re gonna be fine.

_05:23 PM  02/18/08  
No._

05:25 PM  02/18/08  
It’s happening whether you want it or not, Cas. Just thought I’d give you a heads up.

_05:25 PM  02/18/08  
No! Why are you doing this?_

05:26 PM  02/18/08  
Because it’s what I need to do. Don’t try calling me again.

_05:27 PM  02/18/08  
Tell me why. Just, take a moment, talk to me, please._

_05:33 PM  02/18/08  
Dean??_

_```_

```

Sam bends the SIM card until it breaks – a quiet, unremarkable _snap_ – and silently drops the pieces to the trash. He keeps his eyes down, says, “Just until we break your deal, right?”

Dean, across the room, sits at the edge of his bed, bent at the waist and elbows braced to knees. He turns in his hands his own inactive, now useless cell. “Yeah,” he says, blinking back the sudden sting, “just ‘til then.”


	4. Part III

_Outgoing call_

\- “Dean Winchester, here. If you’ve got a spook I’m your mook but if not, you’ve _really_ got the wrong number.” -

“What is this, Dean? Whatever it is, whatever’s happened, just _tell me_. How am I to understand if you refuse to explain? Let me help you!”

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “This is Sam, leave a message.” -

“Sam, call me. Dean’s told me you’re going off the grid and that he has no intention of contacting me with your new information. As this is, obviously, idiotic to the extreme, I’d very much appreciate knowing that the hell is going on!”

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “This is Dean’s other, other cell so, you must know what to do.” -

“Oh, this is just childish. _Call me back._ ”

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “This is Sam, leave a message.” -

“Are you really standing with Dean on this? I’m worried, Sam. It’s been over a week. Call me, please.”

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “Dean Winchester, here. If you’ve got a spook I’m your mook but if not, you’ve _really_ got the wrong number.” -

“Is this it, then? You’re done with me, just like that? After everything, after—

“…Was it me, Dean? Was it only me, all along? Did I push too hard, did I…

“Please, I only need to know you’re alright, that you didn’t jump into something bigger than you knew you could handle. Please.”

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “Dean Winchester, here. If you’ve got a spook I’m your mook but if not, you’ve _really_ got the wrong number.” -

“You _ass_. You sanctimonious, stubborn, insensate _dick!_ How dare you make me believe for even a moment this could possibly be my fault? You’ve done this, not me, and I can only hope you’re still alive out there so I can hunt you down and kill you myself!”

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “Dean Winchester, here. If you’ve got a spook—” -

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “This is Sa—” -

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “Dean Winchester, her—” -

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “Dean Winchester, here. If you’ve got a spook I’m your mook but if not, you’ve _really_ got the wrong number.” -

“I’d like to remind you, Dean, that I made no promise to leave. I won’t. I promised to love you. I promised to be there for you, always. When I find you, and I _will_ find you, you are going to explain to me exactly why you felt the need to abandon me. You are going to explain why you’ve left me for _weeks_ of fear and worry and loneliness. You are going to get on your knees and _beg_  my forgiveness. It’d better be good.”

_Call ended_

```

_Outgoing call_

\- “We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please ch—” -

_Call ended_

 

**``````**

 

Castiel shoulders his way into his apartment, the heavy oak door – a complement entirely the fault of his building’s century-old architecture – sticking more so than usual and something Castiel absolutely can’t manage to muster up the patience for. It’s been a long day.

He tiredly drops his work satchel against the wall and keys to the hallway console table. He’s two steps into the apartment and halfway out of his coat when he stops, head cocked towards the living room just past the hall.

The TV is on.

He did _not_ leave the TV on.

Castiel slowly, carefully, draws his coat back up around his shoulders. He steps forward, feet whisper-soft and following the barely-there hum of sound, the familiar cadence of the TV advertisement for a local divorce attorney. He peeks cautiously around the hall wall and immediately spots the man, his head clearly visible over the back of the couch he’s sat on.

As though he can sense Castiel’s gaze, the man tips his head up and back, exposing his profile – sharp nose and fox-like curl of lips – and granting Castiel clear view of his feet kicked comfortably up on the coffee table, seeming entirely at home.

“What’s for dinner?” the stranger says, voice light and dripping humor. “I’m starving.”

Castiel immediately turns, intent to run, and the man is between him and the door in the space of a blink, confirming Castiel’s fears. Castiel’s eyes drop to the stranger’s feet, heels inches from the devil’s trap hidden beneath the welcome rug, and realizes his mistake a split-second too late. He attempts to disguise the tell; drags his eyes up from the floor in a careful once-over of the man’s appearance.

Practical brown workman’s boots, jeans, green canvas jacket over a flannel shirt. The man is short of stature, with shaggy brown-blonde hair and features that may have been pleasant if he didn’t look quite so smug, borderline predatory.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks, that same curl of mirth on every word.

“I’d like to leave,” Castiel says, takes an uneasy half-step to the side.

The man barks a laugh, seemingly startled into it. Castiel sways another few inches left. “Easy there, homeslice. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“That, I highly doubt.” Castiel’s hand whips out to grab the decorative vase on the table at his side, and in an instant is flinging the holy water within straight at the creature standing before him.   

The man is just as quick. His fingers snap together, a simple _click_ and the water in the air is suddenly, impossibly transmuted into a flurry of white feathers, now harmlessly floating to the floor.  

Castiel may only know what Dean’s told him, but it’s enough to know this. He steps back, this time in genuine fear. “Trickster.”

“Bingo!” The man twirls his wrist in a slight flourish, smirking at Castiel’s flinch. “Got it in one.”

“What do you want,” Castiel says, flatly not a question.

The Trickster shrugs loosely, his words drawn out in a lazy, upbeat drawl. All the time in the world. “I was curious, at first. Who’s this ‘Cas’ I’m hearing so much about?” His voice takes on a mocking edge. “‘Cas says this.’ ‘Cas says that.’ ‘Text Cas, Sammy, he’ll know what to do!’” He wanders forward as he speaks, though Castiel stands his ground. “And here I thought I knew the whole gang.”

“You killed Dean,” Castiel growls.

“Oh, yeah, loads,” the Trickster says, flippant. “But, funny thing: that last time, the time little Sammy thought was for good? He hunted me for months, and ‘Cas’ didn’t even get a courtesy call. Never looked back,” he again shrugs. “I lost interest.”

The Trickster, now only a step away, rolls his eyes at Castiel’s expression. “Relax, I put them back where I found them. Eventually.”

“I haven’t spoken to Dean in a month,” Castiel says, feels a deep, rising terror at the implication. “Nor Sam. Why? Why are you here?”

“Oh, they’re alive,” the other offers, and Castiel, though he knows he shouldn’t trust the word of a Trickster, feels the nauseating knot of worry that’s tightened with every passing day loosen considerably. The shorter man rattles out a put-upon groan. “But the _wallowing._ They’ve never exactly been a bucket of laughs, but, still. _Ay caramba._ ”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “You’re spying on them.”

“Only when there’s nothing good on cable.” The Trickster turns, knocks a foot to the newly-installed baseboards. The runes and sigils engraved on their backs begin to glow; an eerie, fire-red blaze of power visible straight through the wood. “That’s some impressive warding you’ve got there. Was gonna pop in, pop out – you’d never even know I was here. But you’ve got even _me_ feeling itchy.” His eyes go sharp. “Color me intrigued.”

Castiel feels the bite of nails into the meat of his palms, the small pain a grounding and welcome sensation; a damping rod to his fear. “I know many things the Winchesters do not,” he says, halting, entirely unsure what is safe or unsafe to reveal in a situation such as this. “Theoretical knowledge, at best, though I’m glad my efforts have proven…” he eyes the feathers littering the floor, “effective.”

The Trickster snorts. “Believe me, this is the most well-protected fortress against all things weird this side of the equator. Which begs the question,” he fixes Castiel with a piercing look, “who the _hell_ are you?”

Castiel’s fists unclench in painstaking increments. He takes a slow, fortifying breath. “My name is Castiel Ja—”

The god has a hand under Castiel’s jaw before he can so much as blink. He’s slammed to the wall of the narrow hall, head hitting the drywall with a sickening _crack_ and Castiel chokes around the hand at his throat, pinning him with preternatural strength. The man comes close, a frankly terrifying anger in his voice as he snarls, “ _What_ did you—”

He stops, dizzyingly abrupt. The anger drains as soon as it came, replaced by disbelief. He searches Castiel’s eyes, his own slowly lighting on an unnerving sort of recognition. “You…?”

Castiel struggles to focus past the stars sparking in his vision, the darkness creeping in around the edges. He fights for the breath to grit, “My name is Castiel James Nova—”

“Shut up,” the Trickster again interrupts, and promptly drops the hold at Castiel’s throat. Castiel sags to the wall, panting breaths, the previous pain in his head and shoulders inexplicably absent. “You have no idea who you are.”

The Trickster regards Castiel for a long, silent moment, expression completely unreadable for the first time Castiel’s seen. He lifts a hand, index and middle fingers outstretched.

“Hold onto your hats, folks. This is gonna be a bumpy ride.”

The god presses his fingers to the center of Castiel’s forehead, and his world goes dark.  

 

``````

 

He is an old man, and it has rained for 23 days.

The village reeks of death and desperation; the area in ruin. Many previously habitable buildings have collapsed under the strain, and the ground itself is more slurry than traversable earth. The food stores have long since been lost to the damp, the livestock soon to follow, and the people forced to leave in a futile migration East. Castiel surveys those who’ve remained; some in hope of Salvation, many simply too sick to travel.

“Oh, I _like_ this.” Uriel says from where he’s appeared at Castiel’s side. His teeth shine as he smiles, a stark contrast to the dark skin of his chosen vessel, plucked from half a world away. “Nice and slow. Gives them time to reflect on their sins.”

Castiel keeps his silence. It is a matter of hours before the rise of the sea will completely overtake this village; the water come to wash away the fear, the sickness and the rot. The land thus Cleansed.

“Disgusting creatures,” Uriel sneers. “I don’t see why we don’t just wipe out the lot of them.”

“Those are not your orders,” Castiel says. “You would do well not to question His will.”

Uriel’s grace flares in uncharacteristic irritation. Castiel looks to the sky as the previous steady beat of rain suddenly becomes an unforgiving deluge.

“Peace, Uriel.”

The vessel holding Castiel is not one of the chosen to survive the coming Flood; though one of his kin, a child and an innocent, is. The lineage of Castiel’s true vessel is not destined to die with this man, and Castiel is glad, in a way. Humanity, such as it is – _new_ as it is – is…interesting, if nothing else. Castiel, for one, would very much like to see the cumulation of the Father’s plans.

```

He is a child, the girl too young and distantly kin to Castiel’s true line to be altogether comfortable, but a strong vessel nonetheless.

This, like many of the brief and ill-advised visits of the recent past, was entirely Balthazar's idea.

“This is positively _foul,_ ” Balthazar disdains, the lips of her vessel – the child’s mother – curled and whole self projecting a delicate sense of repugnance undercut with reluctant amusement. Castiel, not for the first time, wonders how Balthazar can so easily sink so deep into the vessel, to experience and express such complex, human emotions.

“It does seem…foolish,” Castiel allows.

To humanity’s credit, the base of the structure – the Tower – is certainly wide enough to support an impressively tall edifice if completed. Tall by human standards, in any case.

The structure is round, or close enough to it; its walls sheer, rising 30 feet high and counting. With bricks made primarily of mud and dung, Castiel is somewhat impressed the builders have made it even this far.

The smell is…highly unpleasant.

Castiel surveys the surrounding area, the usual human bustle and over-crowding made worse with the construction of the Great Tower set right at the city’s center. It’s become quite the spectacle, Castiel sees, eyes to the travelers and countrymen come to marvel at the Tower and all it stands for; an awed adulation which ventures dangerously close to idolization.

“Should hop over to the West, shouldn’t they? The Dahšūr have certainly done better,” Balthazar says lightly. “They could stand to learn a thing or two from…” she waves a hand through the air, as if to pluck the words from the spaces between this dimension and the next. “Oh, what was his name…”

“Sneferu,” Castiel supplies.

Balthazar snaps her fingers in revelation. “Ah, yes, that’s the one.”

Minutes pass, the two angels quietly observing the workers and zealots before Balthazar abruptly breaks the silence. “Come, Cassie,” she says, bending at the waist to sweep Castiel into her arms, the small body of the woman’s daughter tucked in at her hip in an easy, familiar hold. Castiel bristles at being physically handled without their express permission, though Balthazar’s rising enthusiasm easily brushes past the small irritation. “I have a sudden craving for a decent mead. Care to join?”

```

He is a young woman as he watches a kingdom burn.

The battle for Gomorrah – as Sodom before it – had been long, hard-fought and, ultimately, a bitter loss for Heaven. The demon inhabitants of the kingdom now far outnumber the humans, and even the mortals among them have abandoned their morals; choosing instead to follow their Cursed neighbors in their wickedness and savagery.

Castiel stands before a road at the city’s edge, blade in hand; one of many tasked to enforce the city’s quarantine. There is a charge in the air, a heady power few can truly sense yet still has managed to saturate the kingdom in a deep and inexplicable foreboding. The people are restless; the demons moreso.

The Archangel Gabriel, for whatever reason, has fallen into Castiel’s orbit on this particular incursion onto the Earthly plane. He has placed himself atop the sloped thatch roof of a small, ramshackle hut to Castiel’s left; laid out in a loose and casual sprawl which belies the furious sense of inefficacy radiating from him in waves, and causing Castiel no small amount of unease.

His vessel is unusually fair-skinned and has sly, light eyes that seem to match perfectly his burnished bronze hair. Castiel wonders if he crafted it himself.

“They’re His favorite, you know,” Gabriel says mildly, with an underlying bitterness he cannot or does not care to conceal. His mouth twists into something ugly. “Not that you would.”

Castiel keeps her eyes to the road.

The Smiting itself is beautiful in its intensity; a fierce and terrible cacophony of light made physical, impossible heat and the roar of power so great as to easily drown out the screams of the Damned. Castiel hears them, regardless.

In the end, it’s over remarkably quickly. Castiel pretends not to notice Gabriel’s tears.

```

He is a young man.

He has flown high into the mountains, higher than any human could possibly stand to travel; the air thin and cold all-pervasive, the snow at his feet thick and glittering pure. He’s flown…away. Away from the pain and fear and sacrifice; _away_ from this invasive, dark and terrible thing growing within him.

Anael appears in a rustle of wings; her vessel’s wild dark hair and bright eyes burning like holy fire in the blinding light of first dawn.

“The Son is dead,” she imparts, dispassionate and cold in the wake of the unthinkable. Castiel can only nod in response.

“Our work is done,” Castiel says, after a time. “The garrison is to withdraw.”  

Anael turns to face him, brows drawn; perhaps sensing his apprehension. “Is there something—”

“I would rather stay,” he interjects. “Here.”

Anael takes a half-step back, her thoughts swirling with shock, confusion and, to Castiel, an odd and unexpected…curiosity?

Castiel is somewhat surprised, himself. To have said the words, to have not been met with anger; a dismissal outright. He considers the sharp and bright _why?_ she feels and says simply, “It’s quiet.”

They stand together, looking out and down to the valley at the base of the mountains, the only shock of green in a landscape of rocky browns and greys draped in a sheet of sparkling white.

“Our orders are to return at once,” Anael says softly, and Castiel hears it as the plea it is. The offer of an out she desperately wants him to take.

“I will come, should you command it,” he says eventually. The only honest answer he can give.

“I don’t—” she stops, looks away; eyes down to her feet, up to the horizon. “I don’t know that I should. Castiel, this is— You know what this is.”

“Yes.”

“You know what this means, what will happen? For you, for your—”

“Yes,” Castiel repeats. “I am…tired, Anael.”

Anael draws a slow, unnecessary breath, and Castiel senses her mind settle. Feels her resolve.

“I’ll hide this,” she says. “Our conversation. They won’t know where you are.”

Castiel frowns. “You should not. I would not see you punished for my own disobedience.”

Anael lets her overwhelming fondness speak for her; only shakes her head and reaches to take one of Castiel’s hands in both of her own. She smiles sadly, eyes shining and he sees it clearly: her awe of his choice, her fear and determination and a whisper of envy, most dangerous of all.

She raises his hand to her lips, kisses it softly. “Goodbye, brother.”

And he is alone.

 

``````

 

Castiel comes back to himself on the floor, on his knees, held up solely by his grip on the Trickster’s – _Gabriel’s_ – legs, fingers clenched tight into the fabric of his jeans.

“My name,” he gasps, head bowed to the floor, the first words to win out over so much nonsense crowding at his throat. “My name. My mother said it came to her in a prayer but she— They didn’t— They didn’t _understand_ —”

Castiel cuts off with a small noise of hurt, curling further into himself at Gabriel’s feet. It’s too much; millennia of memories and experiences thrust upon his fragile, under-prepared human consciousness, all at once. _It’s too much._

“Castiel,” Gabriel says softly, lays a hand to the top of his head.

An anointment. A condemnation.

Castiel looks up to the all-powerful being stood before him. “Are you here to kill me?”

Gabriel steps back and Castiel falls, braced to hands and knees and he remembers this, too. Remembers standing on the face of that mountain for a long, long while before making himself One with the earth he loved so much, so much more than the Father intended; before dropping to his knees to slowly, carefully, deliberately bleed his Grace into the land.

He died that day. He never expected to be _reborn._

Gabriel shifts his weight. “Get up, _Cas._ I’m not going to kill you.”

 _Cas._ A word aimed to hurt: a reminder of what he now was.

 _Human. I’m human._ And the thought hits hard, though probably not in the way Gabriel would expect. An uncontrollable giddiness rises in Castiel, a huff of laughter escaping through dry lips.

His name is Castiel James Novak. Son of Clara and James Novak. Associate Professor at Loyola University, Chicago. This is his apartment, filled with things Castiel picked and chose and owns. He has a _life,_ a home, family and friends—

Oh. Oh, god, please no.

“Dean,” Castiel grits, using the hallway table to laboriously haul himself back to his feet. “Sam.” And all the awe and exhilaration and feelings of _right_ are instantly sapped away because he knows these names. Knows them as sure as he now knows the name of every Prophet there ever was or ever will be.

Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man. Sam Winchester, the Boy King.

_No._

“It’s time, little bro,” Gabriel says, throwing his arms out wide. “The end is nigh!”

“Stop it,” Castiel demands, voice little more than a growl. “Stop it now, before it begins.”

Their gazes clash; Gabriel’s eyes hard in clear warning, Castiel too angry and panicked to care.

“Too late, now. He made the deal, all his own.”

The words land like a blow. Castiel takes a moment, forces himself to ask, “How long?”

“He got a year,” Gabriel says, though Castiel’s relief is disastrously short-lived. “Six weeks left.”

The cold wash of dread is enough to take Castiel’s already weak knees. He falls into the wall, catches himself by grace of the table at his side, its adornments giving an alarming rattle. Gabriel watches closely, giving nothing away.

“What did you _do,_ Castiel?”

It takes a distressingly long time for Castiel to work past the frantic whirl of his thoughts to parse out Gabriel’s words. _Six weeks._ “I,” he says, swallows once. “I Fell.”

“You _left,_ ” Gabriel spits with surprising vehemence. Castiel’s head whips up, sees the archangel’s face turned to the side. He looks back a moment later, words light and mask firmly in place, “Not that I blame you. Heaven’s a real bore.”

A few more pieces click into place. Castiel gapes. “Gabriel, you— You’ve left the Host?”

“Sure did,” Gabriel smirks, sharp enough to cut. “Looks like I’m having a better time of it than you, though.” Gabriel makes a show of looking around, a derisive survey of the small space Castiel’s carved out to accommodate his small, inconsequential human life. He gives a low whistle. “And here I thought _I_ was slumming it.”

An unexpected anger rises at the archangel's judgement, vicious and quick. Castiel swallows it back, grateful for the clarity it brings, and straightens to face Gabriel head-on. “I need it back.”

Hazel eyes narrow to dangerous slits. “You Fell, and now you want it back.”

 _“No,”_ and Castiel is glad, so glad for the anger; the only thing to shield him from the devastating, immeasurable _loss_ he now feels simmering just beneath. “I need it. I have to save Dean.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes with an exaggerated groan. “And I _told_ you—”

“ _FUCK_ the deal!” Castiel roars, absolutely beyond caring for control because no, the alternative simply _cannot_ come to pass. “I can stop it. I _will_ stop it.” He pauses, takes a steadying breath. “Please, Gabriel, I need my Grace.”

Gabriel stares. “Oh, my god,” he says, voice low and slow with surprise before quickly rising in pitch. “You _idiot._ ”

Castiel bites back a sigh. “Gabriel—”

“Of all the possible ass in the last _two thousand years—_ ”

_“Gabriel.”_

“—you meet and fall in love with the _Chosen One?_ Are you serious right now?”

Easy. So easy. At last, a simple truth.

“Yes,” Castiel replies, “and I have to save him.”

Silence falls, man and archangel glaring from opposite sides of the hall. But Castiel has always been patient.

Gabriel breaks first, tsks and looks away with an absent sort of nod. “Okay. Yeah, sure. Of course you did.” He sways to the right, then a half-step left; a need to move with no real place to go. “And let’s say you do get it back— What exactly is the plan, here? What do you think you can do?”

Castiel drops his eyes. “I can try.”

“You can _die,_ ” Gabriel says, cold. “You think you can reabsorb your Grace and the big dicks upstairs won’t _notice?_ ” A disgusted scoff. “Fat chance. They’ll smite you on the spot.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel begs, the sharp claws of fear beginning to close around his heart, “please.”

Gabriel meets his gaze, and Castiel wants to scream to see the mournful resignation in his eyes, the taut line of his body, angled carefully away. “We left the war, Castiel. Smart thing to do is not look back.”

He disappears in a rustle of wings.

 

``````

 

Castiel enters _Ser Rey’s_ with a flourish and a scowl, the bell on the door announcing his presence to a seemingly empty shop, the front counter momentarily abandoned. The door slips shut behind him and Castiel hears the low hum of a tattoo gun somewhere in the back, the sound an instant balm to his frayed nerves. Castiel steps further into the shop, and a moment later the noise of the gun pauses.

A slight, brunette stranger pokes her head out around one of the tall dividers of the common workspace. “Hi,” she says, chipper tone belied by wary eyes, “can I help you?”

“I’d like a tattoo,” Castiel replies. “Where is Juan?”

His words seem to offer little by way of reassurance. “Uh, we close in like, 20 minu—”

At that moment, Juan himself clatters out from the narrow hall leading back to the private session rooms, searching, and his eyes come alight upon sighting Castiel, an easy grin pulling at his cheeks. “Castiel! Was that my name I heard?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, remarkably relieved to see a friendly face. He casts a sheepish glance to the young woman across the room, who’s relaxed considerably with Juan’s show of familiarity. She raises one heavily-tattooed arm in a half-wave before retreating behind the divider, and with a few indistinct words to her client is back to work, accompanied again by the steady buzz of the gun.

Castiel offers Juan a tired smile. “You remembered.”

Juan clucks reprovingly, sauntering forward. “Forget? You? _Nunca._ ” He cocks a hip to lean against the front counter, the boy’s characteristic brazenness beginning to fade as he studies Castiel, a thread of concern entering his gaze. “You okay?”

Castiel’s scowl returns with a vengeance. He thinks of the vetala he shared a train car with on the L, the werewolf couple and the wraith he passed on the three-block walk from the station to the shop. Apparently, the block on Castiel’s angelic memories wasn’t the only shield Gabriel lifted. “It’s been an exceedingly trying evening.”

Juan accepts Castiel at his word, and Castiel steps forward to smooth a crumpled piece of paper to the counter. “Please, I realize it’s late and this will take time, but I must receive these marks as soon as possible.”

Juan shoots Castiel a there-and-gone look of clear confusion, but in turn studies the presented design with interest. Four lines of hurried, scratchy-lined glyphs with a single larger symbol framed at the center. “Cool,” he says, slow. “What’s that, Arabic? Hebrew?”

“Enochian,” Castiel replies shortly. “Will you do it? It must be tonight, and I’d…” he pauses, surprised by the sudden, forceful truth of it, “I’d rather it was you.”

Juan smiles, a slight flush creeping along his bronze cheeks. “Yeah, dude. I’ll do it,” he says, and Castiel is struck again by the kindness of this almost-stranger, the gratefulness he feels for it.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, meaning it more than the young man probably knows.

Juan only waves him off, embarrassment giving way to good-natured bluster. “Ah, it’s nothin’. Ri won’t be done with her thing any time soon, anyways.” Juan pulls a clean sheet of paper and points a firm finger towards the couches of the shop’s waiting area. _“_ _Siéntate,_ _”_ he commands. Then, gentling, “And have some water, okay?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, and does. He feels calmer than he has in hours. Comfort in action, no matter how small. But his head is too full; the confusion and contingencies and uncertainties and _Dean_. A coalescence of exquisite, useless panic pressing in from all sides.

He folds his shaking hands into his lap, and waits.

 

``````

 

Castiel runs a critical eye over the room: the couch and chairs pushed to the walls or into the hallway, the additional wardings, the single table now in the center of his cleared living room space. The summoning bowl which rests upon it.

It had taken more than a week to acquire the needed name and, infinitely more frustrating, an additional two to track down, purchase, and ship every reagent necessary to perform the ritual. Castiel attempts to clear his mind and find his focus; tramping down the urgency that haunts him, as sure as a hellhound’s howl. He picks up the knife from beside the bowl, its polished blade gleaming in the candlelight.

He’s ready.

Castiel makes the cut, firm and swift, but can’t quite help the punch of air that escapes him as he does; this body (he, himself, _his_ body) instinctively flinching away from the unfamiliar pain. He pushes it aside best he can, marks the throbbing ache as unimportant as he holds his hand above the bowl and lets the blood flow.

_“Gon-van tal gal, Crowley. Ceph-un veh-un tal, ceph-un tal don-un drux!”_

The ingredients of the summoning burst into flame, unexpectedly high and bright, and Castiel raises an arm to block his eyes from the sudden searing light. The roar of the fire quickly dies, and he cautiously lowers his arm, blinking away the dancing red-yellow-white orbs obscuring his sight.

A man now stands opposite Castiel and the table, half-turned away and paying Castiel no mind. He carefully takes in his surroundings, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his fine, dark coat worn over an even finer suit.

“Interesting,” he says, voice dragging heavy across the accented vowels, husky and rough as a storm at sea. His eyes cut to Castiel, a slight smile slowly curving at his lips. “Full marks for drama, I’ll give you that.”

He raises a hand and pauses, fingers poised. He snaps, and the candles along the table extinguish all at once as the overhead lights flare to life. Castiel once again blinks away the stinging pain at the sudden change of brightness.

“There,” the demon sighs, finally turning to face Castiel fully. His true face twists, keen and fiendishly pleased. “That’s better.”

It was a risk – if calculated – to forgo the devil’s trap and leave the demon’s powers largely untethered. But, regardless of the dangers, Castiel needs him relaxed. Receptive to what’s to come.

“You train your operatives well,” Castiel says, infused with false calm. The demon quirks a questioning brow. “The first, she held out to the end. The second, though,” Castiel trades the ceremonial blade for a clean, folded scrap of cloth. “Only a few words of the Old Enochian purification, and he was remarkably happy to share all I’d needed to know.” Castiel drops his eyes to begin wrapping his palm with the cloth, stemming the now sluggish flow of blood. “I killed him quick,” he assures, and again meets the demon’s considering gaze. “The third was just insurance.”

“Ah,” the demon says carefully. “I’d wondered where they’d scurried off to.”

Castiel only nods, arms held loosely at his sides. The demon, Crowley, King of the Crossroads, raises his brows expectantly. _Well?_

“I wish to make a deal,” Castiel says, steady. “Dean Winchester’s soul for an angel’s grace.”

A beat, and Crowley bellows a single laugh, mocking and full of disbelief. “I’m supposed to believe _you_ have access to an angel’s bloody _grace?_ ” He rocks back on his heels. “The angels have been gone for a  _remarkably_ long while. If there was a power so great any which where on this great green Earth, I would know. Try again, mate.”

“Rest assured,” Castiel says, “I can deliver exactly what it is I promise.”

“I’m _very_ well-connected,” Crowley digs.

Castiel stays silent, patiently awaiting Crowley’s true response. He knows as well as Castiel that this would be a pointless endeavor if Castiel didn’t, in fact, have this chip he proposes to bargain with.

“Dean Winchester is strictly off-limits."

“Dean Winchester descending to Perdition is set to launch the beginning of the Apocalypse,” Castiel says, and Crowley’s eyes widen as the shadow of his true form rears back in open surprise. Interesting. He didn’t know. “Yes, did you never wonder _why_ his soul is so important?” he continues, rapidly revising his tactics in light of this new information. “Lucifer will rise, and he will kill us all, human and demon alike. I want you to help me stop it.”

Crowley quickly gathers himself back to careful neutrality. “Lilith is Queen.”

“ _You_ hold the contract,” Castiel fires back. “You are second-in-command. Make the trade, take the power I provide and end her rule. Lucifer will never see the light of day.”

Crowley’s voice raises high into something like a splutter. “You want me to _usurp the First?_ ”

Castiel allows himself a smirk. “Now do I have your attention?”

“You’re sodding insane!”

“I prefer pragmatic,” Castiel says mildly.

Crowley begins to pace, then shortly re-routes to Castiel’s kitchen table, readily accessible through the living room’s adjoining breakfast nook. He picks up the small bottle of whiskey Castiel indulged in – too liberally, perhaps – just the night before, knowing ( _not knowing_ ) what today would bring. Crowley splashes a generous serving into the single glass tumbler keeping the bottle company with brisk, if admirably steady, movements.  

“She could have me killed just for listening to this tosh,” Crowley mutters, raising the glass to take a healthy sip. He immediately grimaces, squaring Castiel a begrieved look and tipping him the drink. “Really? This is the best you can do?”  

Castiel returns to the matter at hand. “The way is clear. The Knights, the Sins, Azazel, Astaroth—”

“Bloody _witches,_ ” Crowley spits.

“—are _dead_ ,” Castiel concludes forcefully. “Dead largely by the Winchesters’ hands, I might add.”

This next bit is a gamble, but one Castiel’s willing to make. After all, he’s had a long time to think on the true motives and means behind the ‘research’ he spent so many months assisting on. “Sam Winchester is looking for you, and Dean’s time is growing near.” Castiel steps forward to take the tumbler from Crowley’s hand, drains it in one. “You’ll find he’s not near as charitable as I am.”

Crowley stares; silent, calculating. He retrieves the now empty glass from Castiel’s grip and places it back to the table, precisely where he’d found it.

“No deal.”

Castiel’s heart painfully jumps, taking up residence somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “What?”

“I _said,_ ” Crowley drawls, condescendingly exact, “no.” He takes in Castiel’s stricken expression. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s an attractive offer. You hold your cards well,” he complements, sidestepping Castiel to wander back to the living room proper. “Power. Security. Glory. And all for one measly soul? _Brava._ ” He turns, quirks a smile. “But, you see. I don’t _know_ you, and I don’t _trust_ you, and would you like to know _how_ I’ve maintained my carefully cultivated prestige and most important ongoing existence?” His expression hardens and, behind the veneer, the true form _roars._ “ _NOT_ BY CONSPIRING TO MURDER THE THRICE-DAMNED _QUEEN_ , THAT’S HOW.”

In an instant, the very air around them goes suffocatingly, stiflingly tight. Castiel has less than a second to worry this is it – this is his end, dead at the hands of the demon he summoned of his own free will – before something gives, a _crack_ of space itself and, no, not Crowley after all.

“Wow, Castiel,” Gabriel says from where he now stands, sharing the room with Castiel, Crowley, and a fourth; a female kneeled at the archangel’s feet, effectively restrained by the hold Gabriel has on her long, shining blonde hair. “Do I have to do _everything_ around here?”

Crowley takes one look at Gabriel and the woman then stumbles, a single sigil at each of the room’s four corners flaring to life. A man gone to take a step only to find his shoelaces knotted as one.

If the demon wishes to leave, he’ll have to walk. Castiel, however, has larger concerns. “Gabriel, what—?”

The woman at Gabriel’s feet raises her head and Castiel flinches back in shocked horror. Oh, god, but the twisted and brutalized true face of this demon is so, so sickeningly young.

“Castiel. _Cas,_ ” she gasps, and Castiel must restrain himself from recoiling further to hear the creature speak his name. “I-I know you, and you— You know me, you do,” she continues, frantic. “My name is Ruby, and I’ve been helping Sam, Dean.” Ruby. Castiel stares into her wide, frightened eyes and recalls all Dean’s told him of the demon who’d freely offered her assistance on a number of the brothers' hunts. “I swear, call Sam, just call him, I’ve done nothing but help—!”

“Can it, will you?” Gabriel interrupts, and with a sharp arc of power the demon shouts, falling forward to brace her forearms to the floor. She gasps and writhes, grey leather jacket bunching at deceptively delicate wrists. She again raises her head, hair flicked back to reveal features now contorted into a snarl, half-smile. Her eyes shine, milky white.

Understanding dawns. “Lilith.”

“Yep,” Gabriel chirps. “Cat’s out of the bag now, Cujo,” he calls over his shoulder, addressing Crowley, gone quiet and still from across the room. “Sure you don’t want to rethink that offer?”

Lilith whips around as much as she’s able. “ _Crowley,_ ” she spits, loathing in every syllable. “ _Snake._ ”

Crowley says nothing.

“Gabriel,” Castiel says urgently, not knowing how the archangel came to know of his plans or why he’s here, helping, now, but grateful nonetheless. Together, they’ve cornered Crowley more effectively than Castiel could ever have hoped to achieve on his own. Lilith is another matter entirely. “Kill her,” he pleads. “End it!”

Gabriel gifts him a flat, unimpressed look. “Uh, hello,” he says, tone implying nothing less than _not the smartest cookie, are you?_ “Under the radar, remember? A smiting like that? _Not_ cool.” Lilith shrieks, furious. Gabriel only smirks. “Besides. I won’t have to, will I?”

They turn as one to Crowley. For a drawn, weighted moment the demon keeps his silence, eyes on Lilith all the while.

“Castiel,” he says, as if tasting the name Castiel previously neglected to give. “The grace.”

“Yours,” Castiel immediately promises, “if you release Dean’s soul. That’s all I ask.”

The demon reaches a hand into the interior pocket of his overcoat, and withdraws a gun – a long-barreled antique revolver. At the sight of it, Lilith _screams_ ; Castiel’s ears sent rattling at the inhuman, high-pitched screech of unadulterated rage.

Two steps forward, and Crowley levels the muzzle squarely between her glaring eyes.

“Sorry, love,” Crowley says, quietly calm. “It’s just business.”

Castiel will remember, later, this moment. The ring of the shot, and his first thought: _That’s much louder than it is on TV._

```

It’s done. Crowley is gone, and Gabriel went…somewhere. Kind of him, Castiel thinks distantly, to remove Lilith’s body from his apartment in the process. Castiel drains his glass, takes up the bottle to pour another drink.

“You’re an idiot.”

Castiel looks to Gabriel, now sitting opposite, arms crossed and slumped tiredly to the kitchen table. Castiel again lifts the bottle, an offer, and Gabriel rolls his eyes even as he conjures a second glass to rest between them.

“I just saved the world,” Castiel says. He feels very strange. Detached, perhaps. The words seem unreal: too big to be true for a thing such as him. “Am I in shock?” he asks curiously. “Is this shock?”

Gabriel snorts. “Maybe,” he says. “Could be the Johnny.”

Castiel hides his smile behind his glass, concedes a nod. He takes another sip, says, quiet, “Thank you.”

“You sold your Grace, bro.” Gabriel frowns. “Sure you wanna thank me?”

_(“The High Western Alps,” Castiel says, contract and seal. “There is a stream that flows with no natural source. It never freezes, never slows.” He pauses, breathes deep; sulfur and ozone and the acrid scent of burnt herbs. “Find the stream, find its source. Find the Grace.”_

_“I should bloody well hope,” Crowley snaps. A needless concern. This, Castiel remembers. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure,” he says, flicking a look from Castiel, to Gabriel, and back, “but let’s not do this again, yeah?”)_

“Yes,” Castiel replies, simple and sure.

“Michael’s gonna be _pissed._ ”

It’s Castiel’s turn to frown. “You speak as if the Host would want to see the End.”

Gabriel only shrugs, and Castiel, for one, isn’t near inebriated enough to think on the significance of all that may imply.

Instead, they sit in surprisingly companionable silence; man and angel sharing a drink on the other side of the end of the beginning of the end.

Gabriel eventually bellows a restless sigh. “Look,” he says, clunking his glass to the table with an air of finality. “You wanted to spare your damsel her distress, and I didn’t want my fave vacation spot blown out of business.” Gabriel slants Castiel a faux-stern glare. “But don’t go expecting a miracle a minute.”  

Castiel schools his features to absolute neutrality. “Gabriel, who?”

“Damn right,” Gabriel huffs, tipping his head to the back of his chair to smile wide to the ceiling, or maybe the universe at large. “So, what’s next?”

Castiel hums a single, tranquil note. “Now, it’s time to find Dean.”

 

``````

 

It’s ten days after Dean doesn’t die that things finally come to a head.

The last couple months of what Dean had fully, unequivocally believed to be his _last_ months had, frankly, sucked ass. It wasn't what Dean wanted, isn’t what Dean would have chosen, but he went through the motions; did it for Sam. Weeks of hunting down Bela and the Colt and coming up with nothing. Weeks of interrogating demons for information on Dean’s deal, and nothing. 30 hours to Dean’s due? Bobby unearths a supposedly foolproof tracking spell to get a bead on Lilith, and _nothing._ And then, despite everything in Dean blaring _bad idea_ , Sam tried summoning Ruby, which ultimately led to, you guessed it, a whole lot of nothing.

Dean spent his last hours aimless and afraid; isolated in Bobby’s panic room while Sam and Bobby stood vigil at the basement entrance.

Except, _nothing happened._

Days of research and worry, and Dean finally dares to leave the relative safety of the panic room. Only a few days more before the restlessness and quiet and _wrong_ became too much to bear, Dean quickly reaching the point of really fucking done with hiding from an enemy who, as far as they could tell, simply wasn’t there.

So when, two days ago, Sam caught wind of some cattle mutilations out in Nebraska – the first whiff of possible demonic activity in weeks – Dean finally put his foot down and insisted on checking it out; needing to do something, _anything_ to find out what the fuck is going on.

Dean’s getting real goddamn tired of jumping at shadows.

So, _of course_ , Dean’s alone at the motel when there’s an unexpected knock on the door.

Dean pulls his M1911 and silently steps to the door, hoping but not really expecting that Sam’s simply back early from the clusterfuck of a situation the local sheriff's office calls a records room. Hey, maybe his hands are just too full with the Mexican takeout Dean demanded for dinner to open the door himself.

Yeah, right.

Dean checks the door’s peephole only to be met with darkness. He bites back a curse. Fucker’s blocking the eyelet, never a good sign.

He takes a breath. Drops his eyes to check the line of goofer dust across the threshold, then up to the wreath of devil’s shoestring above the head jam.

He whips the door open, gun up and ready and sights set between two wide, ocean-deep eyes.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes. “ _Cas?_ ”

```

A month, and Castiel has developed an acute sense of sympathy for any and all law enforcement ever tasked with tracking and apprehending Sam and Dean Winchester.

He’d traveled first to Pennsylvania, following a potential hunt he’d flagged a full week before but hopefully fresh enough that the brothers would still be in the area. Unfortunately, by the time Castiel arrived they'd been and gone but, as confirmed by a number of staff at the Erie General Hospital, they _had_ been there. Castiel had hoped that meant he’d been on the right track: find the hunts and the Winchesters would follow. But of course, when has Dean ever made anything easy?

He is, Castiel must remind himself, _angry at this man_.

Except. Dean shines like something holy under the light of the early evening sun. His skin glows golden, and his eyes seem unreal, a green so vibrant and clear they subvert everything Castiel thought he knew of the color. He is beautiful and loved and here, alive, standing right before Castiel, at last. It’s almost enough to distract him from the gun at his head.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Holy shit,” Dean repeats, dropping the gun. “Holy _shit_ , Cas, I almost shot you!”

Castiel gathers his composure, fixes Dean with a hard stare and reaches back to draw the silver knife at his belt. Dean takes a reflexive step back, but Castiel only holds out his forearm, nicking a cut to the exposed skin under the sleeve of his light jacket and bleeding red. He flips the blade, holding it to Dean hilt up.

Dean looks to Cas as if he’s sprouted all three extra heads, and perhaps his wings to boot, but gamely takes the blade to make a small cut at the back of his own wrist. Castiel reaches down to snap the button of one of the (many) pockets of the cargo pants he’s learned to wear to withdraw a flask, splashes the salted holy water across his and Dean’s wound in turn.

Dean, still, stares.

“May I come in?” Castiel asks pointedly, and Dean seems to shake out of it, stepping back to allow him access to the room.

Castiel surveys the space, the empty beds and open bathroom door. “Where’s Sam?”

“What the—” Dean splutters, closing the door and quickly retreating to the room proper. “Cas, what the fuck are you doing here?” He takes in Castiel’s clothes and appearance – eyes catching on his boots, his utilitarian jacket, the Mala prayer beads that loop his right wrist – then gives the knife he holds a startled glance, as if he’d forgotten how he’d got it. “Have you been fucking _hunting?_ ”

“I’ve been hunting for _you,_ ” Castiel corrects, earlier irritation suddenly returning full force. He does not, he’s discovered, find cross-country driving nearly as enjoyable as Dean would have led him to believe. “The restless spirit in Tuscaloosa was mostly an accident.” He pauses, considering. “The werewolf in Lexington, slightly less so.”

“An accident,” Dean says weakly, looking sick. Castiel briefly wonders if he should retrieve a bucket. “A fucking _werewolf?_ ” Shouting, now, and Castiel very nearly rolls his eyes. He’s fine, then. “What the hell were you thinking, Cas! It could have killed you!”

Castiel crosses his arms and raises his eyes to the ceiling. “This is entirely beside the point.”  

“The _hell_ it is!”

“I know about the deal,” Castiel says over him, quietly irrefutable, and Dean cuts off so abruptly Castiel imagines he can hear the click of his teeth.

“I know about the deal, and I bought back your soul,” he continues. “You’re not going to Hell.”

The apparent need for a bucket returns with a vengeance, and Castiel realizes his mistake at the same moment Dean pulls a half-step back; trembling hands and wild, panicked eyes.

“What did you do?” Dean whispers, shaky and soft. “Jesus, Cas, what did you do?”

“Dean, listen to me,” Castiel urgently assures. “It was not my soul I sold, nor any other.” He steps forward, reaching a hand but stopping short of touch. Dean, though, meets him halfway, tangling his fingers into the sleeve at Castiel’s wrist in a desperate, tethering hold that sends his heart instantly aching.

“I used to be an angel,” Castiel says, tramping down all anxiety and fear of Dean’s likely reaction to come. “An angel of the Lord.”

“Angels aren’t real,” Dean croaks, a seeming automatic.

Castiel holds Dean’s gaze, wills him to see the truth. “I used to be an angel, and I sold my angelic grace to the demon who held your contract in exchange for your eternal soul.” Dean’s brows draw on a frown and he drops his grip on Castiel’s sleeve, though he doesn’t yet remove himself from their shared bubble of space.

“Lilith.”

“Lilith is dead,” Castiel says, and Dean sucks in a short breath. “Crowley, King of the Crossroads, was your executor and would-be executioner. With Lilith gone, he’s likely the newly crowned King of Hell.”

Dean steps back until his legs bump to one of the beds. Castiel, understanding the need for distance, tries not to let it sting.

He opens his mouth and closes it silently once, twice, before managing, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Your damnation was Heavenly prophecy,” Castiel imparts. Best to say it plain. “You are the Righteous Man. The Michael Sword. Dean, you were meant to start the Apocalypse.” He drops his eyes to the floor. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

“ _What?_ ” Dean says, stricken. “What the hell are you talking about? Angels? Prophecy? The goddamn Apocalypse?” He makes a wild, sweeping gesture in Castiel’s general direction. “And you— What, you really want me to buy in that you’re, you’re a—”   

The words never come.

“No,” Castiel says, filling Dean’s blanks. “I died an angel and was reborn as human as you. I didn’t remember, before. I do now. I never lied to you. I wouldn’t.”

_(“You, uh, you believin’ us, Cas?”_

_“I believe…you would not lie to me. Not on this.”)_

A similar conversation, a plea for understanding, from another time. A lifetime ago. A thousand.

“Please,” Castiel says hoarsely. “Dean. Believe me, please.”

And then, all at once, something in Dean’s expression cracks, softens and melts, like a revelation. The relief blooms in Castiel like something living.

Dean drops to sit on the bed, seemingly knocked dumb in the wake of all Castiel has divulged. “Cas,” he says, a bare huff of breath. “God, Cas, this is _fucked._ ”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “It is.”

Dean hides his face by burrowing into his hands, passing over it twice on a rough scrub. “I’m really,” he says, muffled, then ducks further to dig the heels of his palms hard into his eyes. “I’m not gonna. I’m really not going to Hell?”

Oh, and that. Castiel feels the pull of need so strong it's impossible to resist.

“Dean,” he says, tone an unmistakable command. “Look at me.”

Dean lifts his head, eyes wide; his expression broken open into something lost, terrified. Heartbreakingly hopeful.

“You do not belong to Heaven.” Castiel steps forward, close enough for one leg to slip between Dean’s spread thighs. “You do not belong to Hell.” He rakes a hand into Dean’s hair, tipping his head further back, leaning in to speak directly at his ear. “You are mine, Dean Winchester. They cannot have you.”  

```

“Cas,” Dean croaks, then loses track completely when Cas buries his nose into the short hairs behind Dean's ear, breathing him in. Holy shit. “Cas,” he tries again, and Cas hums an acknowledgment and just. He just, with the nuzzling.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas murmurs, lips pressed warm to the bolt of Dean’s jaw. Again, skimming a barely-there brush to the skin of his neck. Again, firmer and a hint of wet, guided by the hand Dean’s got wrapped around the back of Castiel’s neck.

Huh. When did that happen.

“Um,” Dean says.

Cas smiles; the slow, sensuous curve of it immediately apparent against Dean’s skin. His head finally lifts, dancing eyes catching Dean’s own and a single brow arched in patient query.

 _Smug fuck,_ Dean thinks, and kisses him.

Cas immediately moans into it, rumbling deep and, hello, uses the grip he has on Dean’s hair to tip his head straight back, opening him up for the kiss to go hot and dirty and perfect, Cas taking absolute control. And Cas isn’t fucking around, kisses like man starved, a man at worship; decisive and _hungry_ and it’s all Dean can do to hold on.

Cas breaks away with a hoarse, greedy noise and attaches his lips to Dean’s jaw, leaving Dean to blink dazedly at the ugly, water-stained ceiling and attempt to gather his thoughts in the relative reprieve.

Okay. Dean’s turn, now.

Dean’s hand – the one not clutching at Cas’s neck like a lifeline – drops from its grip at Cas’s jacket to curve at the back of Cas’s knee and _pull._ The dead leg collapses Cas into Dean, off-balance: left knee knocking into Dean’s hip and right foot skidding out for purchase before Dean lifts his hips and twists, putting Cas suddenly flat on his back on the mattress and Dean braced above, legs a tangled mess between them but tables successfully turned.

Dean grins down at Cas’s surprise, quickly giving way to narrowed-eyed petulance.

“Hiya, Cas,” he says cheekily.

“Hello, Dean.”

And, wow. Dean really fucking loves this asshole.

 _Jesus,_ Dean thinks, as if for the first time, it’s _Cas._ Cas is here, right now, in the honest-to-god flesh; here with Dean after more than a year of wanting but not having and a _spectacularly_ shitty three months thinking he’d completely blown his chance and, fuck. Look at them now.

“Dean,” Cas repeats on a growl, taking full advantage of Dean’s momentary distraction to sneak a hand around to palm at Dean’s ass, canting his hips up as much as he’s able with his legs still effectively pinned and getting a whole lot of nowhere. “You interrupted me.”

In love with an asshole who’s also, apparently, a monster in the sack. Who’da thunk.

Dean smirks. “That’s a one-track mind you’ve got there.”

“I promise to respect you in the morning,” Cas says, exaggeratedly sincere, and pulls him down for another devastating kiss.

Dean groans and licks into Cas’s hot mouth, giving into Cas’s insistent hands to drop his hips on a rough grind. The hand on his ass drags up to slip under his shirts, palm momentarily searing warmth into the small of his back before Cas shoves back down, fingers digging in past the waist of his jeans to claw possessively at the meat of his ass.

Dean breaks away from Cas’s mouth with a gasp. Cas’s free hand pointedly pulls at the collar of Dean’s overshirt. “ _Off._ ”

Dean immediately leans up to strip his shirts, which has the added benefit of riding his cock hard into the crease of Cas’s hip, stupidly good. “You too,” he says, breathless, struggling out of his tee. “Wanna see you, too.”

Cas surges up to meet him, gets himself sitting straight and suddenly Dean’s stuck straddling one of his surprisingly thick thighs. Cas sets to biting his way down Dean’s neck; the gasping, tight noise Cas gets for that eclipsed in embarrassment only by Dean’s whimper of protest as his hand withdraws from the back of Dean’s pants. Cas’s own jacket and shirt hit the floor and, fuck, he’s gorgeous, eyes burning dark with lust and hair an absolute riot. Dean catches sight of the anti-possession tattoo inked bold on Cas's forearm, and an even larger block of indecipherable script low on his ribs, but Dean barely gets the chance to look at him before Cas is back to working Dean over; lips, teeth and tongue laving biting kisses along Dean’s shoulder and collarbone.

“Gorgeous,” Cas says, echoing Dean’s thoughts and voice so rock-salt rough Dean can feel it vibrating straight through his chest. “So good,” and Dean cries out as Cas lands a harsh bite directly over Dean's own tattoo, a shot of pleasure-pain that jolts straight to his dick. He rocks down on Cas’s thigh – no friction where he needs it most, nothing but a tease – and buries both hands in Cas’s thick hair, holding on for dear fucking life. Cas hums his approval.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean stutters as Cas’s hand drops to palm at his erection, warm and rolling slow, hand feeling impossibly huge over the denim.  

“I’m going to make you come,” Cas says, placid as a mountain lake, as if he didn’t just come precariously close to fulfilling that promise with the words alone. “How would you like that to happen?”

And, well, there’s really only one right answer to that.

“Fuck me,” Dean says, having spent too many lonely nights imagining it, needing it too much to remember to be embarrassed. “Cas, want you to fuck me.”

Cas rewards him with another bite, a squeeze to his swollen length. “Get on the bed.”

Dean’s only too happy to comply; sliding off Cas’s lap to flop back to the mattress, hands at his belt to strip his jeans and socks. He pauses, though, to see Cas stand and thumb open his ridiculous cargo pants. He reaches for one of the larger pockets before he drops them, digging in under its zippered flap to pull out and dump its contents to the bedside table: a deck of Bicycle playing cards, a black sharpie, a wooden rosary and, yep, a strip of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

“Wow,” Dean says, grinning madly.

Cas shoots Dean a quelling look, then hooks his thumbs in at his waist to drop his pants and underwear as one. He stands bare at the side of the bed, long and lean, miles of tan skin begging for touch.

Dean is officially overdressed. He scrabbles up to put his back to the headboard, shedding the last of his clothes as he goes, and Cas makes an appreciative noise as he joins him on the bed, kneeling between Dean’s spread legs. Cas drops the lube and condoms to the sheets and Dean brings up his knees, planting his feet firm to the mattress to lift his hips in blatant display.

Cas looks his fill, gratifyingly greedy. Dean thinks he knows how Cas feels; still can’t fully believe this is whole thing is real. It’s a little bit scary and a whole lot of hot and Dean needs something – anything, anything Cas’ll give him – inside him as of right the fuck now.

Dean throws out a hand, searching the tangled sheets for the bottle of lube but Cas beats him to it, picks it up and pops the top with a definitive _click._

“Impatient,” Cas clucks.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dean says, completely unconvincing, all but gagging for it to see Cas slowly and meticulously slick his long, beautiful fingers.

“Okay,” Cas says, too agreeable by half, then ducks his head to suck a mark high on Dean’s thigh. Dean’s whine turns to a ragged, belly-deep moan as the pads of two fingers slick directly across his hole. His hips kick up into the empty air, dick bobbing at his stomach and already drooling precome, making a mess. Cas’s free hand comes up to grip his side, thumb digging in at his hipbone, punishingly hard.

“Let me,” Cas slurs into the skin of Dean’s thigh, fingers pressing on a torturous tease. “Just, let me,” and Dean’s not exactly sure of the what, here, but he nods, and Cas continues to mouth at his leg and groin, his two-day stubble a delicious scrape against his oversensitive skin, and finally, _finally_ slips in a finger right where Dean wants it most.

Fuck, it’s good. It’s so fucking good, and Dean drifts in the impossible pleasure of it. Cas takes his time, long minutes of sucking kisses and murmured praise and working him open with a single finger until Dean begs for the burn of a second, then a third, until Cas pulls out completely, lowly soothing Dean’s protests as he crawls his way up Dean’s body. He hooks an arm under Dean’s neck, holding him close, and pulls him into a deep, drugging kiss.

Cas guides his cock to Dean’s hole and rocks slowly into him, inch by agonizing inch. Dean clutches hard at Cas’s shoulders and can’t quite seem to get his breathing right but Cas, god, Cas sounds fucking _broken,_ open and raw. Small, thick noises of pained desperation escape him with every shaky push of his hips, and he breaks their kiss to hide his face in Dean’s neck.

Dean’s spit-slick lips catch a mouthful of hair. Cas smells like old leather and shitty pine car air freshener. Dean loves him so much he loses the air he didn’t really have to begin with.

“Cas,” Dean whispers into the dark tousled strands. He drags a hand down Cas’s back to pull him in deeper, encouraging him faster. “Cas, c’mon. C’mon, please.” And Cas’s thrusts gradually pick up force and speed, inexorable, until Castiel’s gasps turn to moans turn to Dean’s name, chanted like a prayer.

“Dean,” Cas grits, hot and urgent. “You— I need—” and instead of words he bites into the crook where Dean’s neck meets shoulder, hand working in between them to wrap tight and wet around Dean’s sorely neglected dick.  

He’s instantly on the edge, has been for what feels like forever, and knows exactly what Cas needs. He slips a hand around to join Cas’s on his cock and they jerk him together. A handful of strokes, Cas lighting him up from the inside and, fuck, _there._

Searing bright pleasure shoots through him and Dean comes with a groan, splashes hot and filthy between them. Cas seizes up tight, mouth slack at Dean’s cheek as he spills over into him. A last few sporadic, uneven kicks of hips and he stills, breathing damp and heavy into the pillow by Dean’s ear.

Eventually, Cas lifts himself off Dean, carefully slipping out and rolling away with a soft groan, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder and panting to the ceiling.

Well, damn.

Cas glances over and their eyes catch. His lips tug on a smile, wide and quick and which Dean helplessly returns. Cas blindly gropes at the floor, comes up with a pair of boxers to wipe away the mess on his stomach before handing the cloth over for Dean to do the same.

After Cas discards the condom and Dean tosses the boxers back to the floor, Cas wordlessly reaches over, slipping an arm under Dean’s shoulder and pulling until they’re pressed bodily together, Dean’s head resting against Cas’s chest. They lay like that for a handful of minutes, Dean trying very hard to let the steady heartbeat at his ear calm his thoughts.

“You’re troubled,” Cas says, finally breaking the silence.

Dean scoffs, lifts his head and sees that Cas’s eyes are closed, face tilted up and lips slightly curved; the picture of contentment.

“’Course I’m ‘troubled’, you dick,” Dean mocks. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Later,” Cas hums. “For now, all is well.” His eyes squint open in a half-hearted glare. “Dean, you’re ruining my afterglow.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Dick,” he repeats, and impulsively drops a kiss to the mole taunting him from the swell of Cas’s right pec. He catches up with himself and immediately shies, pulling back and mildly embarrassed because yeah, okay, the dude may have just slapped Dean with some of the best sex he’s ever had, but there’s no need to get frickin’ _sappy_ about it.

Before he can get very far, though, Cas catches Dean’s face in his hands, holds his eyes for a long moment and, tender and slow, presses a kiss to the center of Dean’s forehead.

So, yeah. _That_ was pretty damn sappy.

Cas stays close, drops his chin to touch his forehead to Dean’s own, breathes warm into the bare inches of space between them. "It's time to rest.”

And, fuck.

 _Fuck_ , but ain’t that the truth.

 

``````

 

04:49 PM  05/12/08  
Heya Sammy, you’re gonna wanna get a different room tonight.

04:50 PM  05/12/08  
I’ve got company over. If you know what I mean.

04:54 PM  05/12/08  
Wouldn’t say no to those tacos, though!

```

_05:02 PM  05/12/08  
Hello, Sam. As Dean insists on being as uncommunicative as humanly possible, I’d like to assure you that everything is fine, and that you absolutely shouldn’t worry over any demon attacks through the night. Dean and I will explain everything in the morning._

_05:03 PM  05/12/08  
I’ll assume you recognize this number._

_05:05 PM  05/12/08  
And, no, we won’t be needing tacos._

 

``````

 

Dean, being Dean, tries to fuck it up.

So, Cas is here. And they fucked. And then they turned on the TV and bickered over MythBusters, which somehow segued into bickering over the anthropological relevance of Shark Week, which _some-fucking-how_ dissolved into an epic screaming match over all the risks Cas had taken since they’d talked last and Spanish Inquisition levels of interrogation over why Dean thought it was okay to sell his soul for Sam in the first damn place.

And then they’d fucked. Again.

It's a lot to process.

So when Dean woke up to see Cas – warm and tousled soft and breathing deep in sleep, lymed golden bright in the morning light, lying next to Dean like, like that’s _okay,_ like that’s where he should be – Dean decided it was high time he face reality.

(He doesn’t _sneak out_ , okay. He’d made up his mind, and he’d have gone whether Cas had stayed asleep or not. No reason to wake the guy, right?)

Five minutes later finds Dean sliding into the booth opposite Sam at the Denny’s across the highway. Because it’s Sam, and of course he’s already set up camp 7 AM on a fucking Tuesday. Jesus Christ.

Dean snags a piece of toast off Sam’s plate. “C’mon, pack up. We’re leaving.”

Sam owlishly blinks his way up from the folder he’d been absorbed in. “What? What about the case?” He looks around the mostly-empty diner. “Where’s Cas?”

Dean blusters out a noise of pure indignation. “Dude, you didn’t even call me back last night! Who’s to say that was really Cas, huh? You didn’t even bother to check! I could be dead by now!”

If Sam were to roll his eyes any harder, he’d probably strain something. “I’m not stupid, Dean. I came back to the room as soon as I got your texts.” Sam pulls a face. “I could hear you guys straight through the door. I figured if you were good enough to queue up the Discovery Channel, you were good enough for me to get a room across the lot.”

Well. He could have heard worse. “Whatever,” Dean grumbles around a mouthful of toast. “Look, the case here probably ain’t demons. And even if it were, it’s got nothin’ to do with Lilith or my deal.” He waves at the folders laid across the table, scattering crumbs. “If you really think there’s something here, we’ll get Bobby to punt it off to someone local, but we gotta move on.”

Sam’s brows, which had been steadily creeping higher, collapse as his eyes narrow in sudden suspicion. “Dean…” Fuck. “Where’s Cas?”   

And then, with cosmically good timing, because the universe _fucking hates him,_ Cas bursts in through the front entrance, eyes landing on Dean like a goddamn homing missile and looking nothing short of murderous. _Fuck._

Cas stalks his way to their booth and immediately sits, plopping down next to Dean and bullying him across the vinyl with pointy elbows and even pointier fingers.

“Hey, ow!”

“Stop _doing that,_ ” Cas commands, thunderous.

Across the table, Sam’s got his best bitch face turned up to 11. “You seriously ditched him? Not cool.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Cas says, still glaring at Dean but tipping his head to Sam, like, _see?_ “Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam happily returns. “I’m really glad you’re here, man. I hope you know I didn’t want to leave things the way we did…” he trails, somewhat sheepish. “I missed you, y’know?”

Which, _what the fuck._

Cas turns to Sam to respond, but Dean beats him to it. “Cas, just—” he says, twisting to press his shoulder to the cheap wood paneling of the wall, trying for distance. “You gotta go home, okay?” Two pairs of eyes land on him, heavy, and Dean puffs up a breath. “Sam and I, we— We’re hunters. Believe me, you want no piece of this.”

Dean’s given enough to the life to know he’d never wish it on someone else, much less someone he…cares for. And, sure, Cas only sort-of-kind-of touched on the whole ‘millennia of repressed experiences’ thing, but Dean got the gist. At this point, Cas probably knows better than him that this is no life to lead, and as far as Dean sees it, Cas gave up his Grace all those years ago to get _out._ Dean’s got no business dragging him back in.

“You’re a dumbass,” Sam declares.

“I need coffee,” Cas sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Sam helpfully nudges his steaming mug in Cas’s direction. Cas graciously accepts.

Dean straightens in his seat, “Hey, I’m serious, here—” and earns a mean pinch to his side for his efforts. “Fuckin’ _ow,_ Cas! Cut it out!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean.” Cas says, serenely sipping his newly-acquired beverage. “If you wish to hunt, then I will come with you. If you wish to return with me to Chicago, we could do that, too.”

“Um, hello,” Dean says, because apparently it’s crazy hour. “You have a job! An apartment! You can’t just drop and go, man, what the hell?!”

“It’s May. I’m taking a summer sabbatical.”

Dean splutters. “What about Sam? Doesn’t he get a say?”

“I’m fine with it,” Sam chimes in.

“Sam,” says Cas, “is fine with it.” He turns earnest eyes to the traitor in question. “Loyola has a terrific religious studies program. You’d be a wonderful candidate for a work-study at any Graduate level.” And that’s got Sam looking _way_ too speculative for comfort.

Dean begins to build up another protest, only to be stopped short by Cas’s hand, landing heavy and hot on his thigh under the table. A startled glance up, and Cas catches his eye and holds, way too close and intense for having Sam sitting, like, right fucking there. Or, y’know, public in general.

Dean’s not pulling away, though. Isn't sure he could even if he tried.

“Good things do happen,” Cas says, and it sounds like an oath. “You deserve them. You’re allowed to accept them when they come.” His thumb rubs slow, soothing strokes along the top of Dean's thigh. “Will you, Dean? Accept me?”

And, shit. Dean’s gonna end up embarrassing himself in a fucking Denny’s. At 7 AM on a goddamn Tuesday.

Dean swallows past a suddenly tight throat. “Yeah,” he says, low. Ignores the slight tremble of his lip. “Okay, Cas.”

Cas smiles, crooked and small but his eyes give away the game, lit so bright with his happiness Dean might just burn up to see it. “Good,” Cas says, then, in one smooth move, slips his phone out from his jacket pocket. “Now, can I get your number?”

Dean laughs harder than he has all year.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://remmyme.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> also, if anyone at all's interested, I did make an event calendar for this fic as well as the S2-S3 SPN canon it spans, viewable [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B3xopNk2ChtGTVNiR1RjWWo3dms/view?usp=sharing). all dates used were based off this reference calendar.


End file.
